


National Muggle Awareness Month

by prideofportree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel and Hannah are Siblings, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Gabriel is an owl, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Muggle Crowley, Muggle Dean, Muggle Sam, Romantic Comedy, Roommates, Samandriel is adorable, Socially Awkward Castiel, Wizard Castiel, and nobody really loves Quodpot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prideofportree/pseuds/prideofportree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2008 Seattle, one Wizarding reporter and two Muggle brothers find themselves sharing an apartment. Things go smoothly for the most part, aside from the fact that Castiel fails spectacularly at dressing like a Muggle, Dean is having issues with PDA, and there’s an American chapter of Death Eaters who have it out for cultural anthropologists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	National Muggle Awareness Month

**Author's Note:**

> -The amazing works of art you will find inside this fic were done by the lovely Lauren (formerly "laurenofsteel" on tumblr). Thank you so much for everything, Lauren, wherever you are now, you've made me the happiest author on the planet when you decided to claim my story.  
> -I would also like to thank Kat [Norwegianpornfaerie](http://norwegianpornfaerie.tumblr.com) for all her valuable input, beta-read and helpful suggestions during the editing process. Especially when I got into a pickle re: Dean's feelings (not unlike the man himself) and couldn't find my way out.  
> 

“This isn’t funny,” Castiel grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, as he sinks deeper into the chair on the other side of Uriel’s desk.

“It’s hilarious,” Uriel assures him, sliding a suspiciously thick folder of parchments in Castiel’s direction. “You’ll need these, by the way.”

When Castiel makes no move to collect the parchments, Uriel picks up his wand with a sigh and sends them flying into his face.

“Hey!” Castiel cries out, but he manages to catch the heavy stack in the last second, before its sharp corner hits him in the eye. He’s starting to realise that at this point there is no chance he could possibly get out of this. He blinks at the folder, trying to make out the words on the cover.

_May: National Muggle Awareness Month_

“I recommend reading it at least twice,” Uriel suggests, putting his wand down again. “You know how much Naomi cares about this sort of stuff. _Research, research, research._ You don’t want to blow your cover.”

Castiel grimaces. “I don’t understand how Naomi changed her mind so quickly. At the last meeting she was all about the new and improved Young Wizarding Society of Seattle and now she’s suddenly all into the Muggle perspective? What does that even mean?”

Uriel chuckles in his seat. “Everything Muggle is very _in_ these days... unfortunately,” he utters with a strange edge to his voice. “My opinion is that this hype is gonna blow over soon; we just have to deal with it right now.”

Castiel frowns. “Your charmingly blatant mugglephobia aside, I still don’t get why Naomi chose _me_ of all people in the office for this assignment. I’m literally _the worst possible_ choice and she must know this. My parents are Wizarding supremacists, for fuck’s sake.”

Uriel shrugs as if he doesn’t know anything, but Castiel knows that he knows. Uriel always knows. 

“I don’t pretend I understand everything Naomi says or does, but she probably has her reasons. I’m just glad she didn’t give it to me.” 

“But-” 

“Oh for pity’s sake, Castiel, why don’t you ever just go with the flow?” Uriel sits up in his chair, picking up his wand again and for a split second Castiel is almost certain he’s about to get hexed.

" _Accio magazine!_ ” One of the copies of T _he_ _Seattle Sorcerer_ from the stack in the corner flies to the desk, opening on the credits page. “Can you see your name anywhere in here? No, that’s right. And you know _why_? Because you never commit. This is your chance to finally sink your teeth into a story. To do a good job. I thought you wanted that. That you wanted to do dailies and features? Real stories? Exclusives? Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“ _Yes_ , of course, but this is different. It’s-”

“You’re here from eight to five and all you do is paper-pushing. You walk around without purpose. This is the first real thing Naomi has given you since the war!” 

Castiel glances up at the mention of the war, his heart jolting a little in his chest.

“We all miss the war, ok? I suggest you deal with it.” Uriel closes the magazine and sends it walking back towards the pile, looking at Castiel expectantly.

Castiel only shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you sure you’re not projecting? Because I sure as hell do _not_ miss the war. The war was horrible. So many Wizards died, so many Muggles died... we’re lucky to still be here, you and I both.” 

Uriel snorts in amusement. “Don’t try to tell me you like it better this way. We’ve practically been turned into a woman’s mag. It makes me sick. One day you’re in the field, in _Scotland_ , fighting and taking notes on advanced protection spells and then suddenly the next day you’re over at some old lady’s house in the freaking suburbs, talking about _wandless knitting_!”

Uriel's nostrils are flaring and Castiel really wants to get out of his office.

“I believe I understand your anger,” he states in his best sympathetic voice, even though he does not pity Uriel at all. “You’ve been handed the short end of the stick lately and you are very upset about it. But can’t you just-”

“No.” Uriel puts his wand down and leans back in his chair, his face stony.

“But isn’t there some way-”

“No, Castiel. You do the assignment or feel free to quit your job. Full stop.” 

Castiel screws his eyes shut for a second, slowly but surely mentally surrendering to his fate. “Ok,” he breathes out, opening his eyes again. “You know what? Fine. _Fine._ But just answer me this last thing: Why didn’t Naomi give me that piece about Salem instead? I’m sure she knew I wanted it.”

Uriel’s left eyebrow quirks up. “We gave that to Balthazar,” he admits matter-of-factly, as if he just hasn’t stuck a hypothetical wand up Castiel’s ass and chanted _periculum_.

Castiel bristles. “But he's not even from the US! What could he possibly know about the Massachusetts school system? He went to Hogwarts, for f- …that’s like _the opposite_ of Salem! I know everything about that damn place, I grew up in Michigan!”

“I feel like Naomi tends to go for the opposite point of view,” Uriel admits, shrugging again. “Again, not my decision,” he adds quickly, raising his hands. “Try looking on the bright side - at least for this assignment, you don’t have to leave the city.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Lucky me. Like there’s so much keeping me in Seattle.”

Uriel leans even further back in his chair (almost to the point where Castiel is sure he’s going to slide right down to the floor), connecting the tips of his fingers under his chin. He squints a little.

“I am willing to help you, Castiel. It’s also in my interest that this series is superb, after all.”

Castiel lets out a bitter chuckle. “If you’re so desperate to get all the gold stars and for Naomi to tell you what a good boy you are, feel free to do the assignment yourself.” He shoves the folder under his arm so he can massage both of his temples. “I mean, _how_ do you even intend to help me? I don’t see how you could, unless you’re ready to cook up some polyjuice potion and do the actual fieldwork."

Uriel shakes his head wordlessly and summons a quill and a piece of parchment instead, scribbling something down on it, one corner of his mouth quirking into a suspicious little smirk. Castiel does not like that smirk.

“I can assist you with many things.” Uriel’s voice is smooth and cool like a nest of snakes. “I could give you advice on Muggle clothing, for example.” He looks Castiel up and down, nodding. “And help you find an apartment. Let me notify Samandriel, he will go through Muggle paper ads for you. You’ll probably need to go to an interview or two, but the office will be covering all your expenses, so you don’t need to stress yourself too much. There is bound to be a free room somewhere in Seattle that’s just perfect for you and your _research_.”

Castiel grimaces, shaking his head. “I don’t need your _or_ Samandriel’s help. And I can dress myself, thank you very much.”

Uriel glances up from the parchment again, unimpressed. “Hardly. You can barely dress yourself properly as a Wizard, I doubt your Muggle disguise is going to be any better.” 

He folds the piece of parchment into a bird and sends it out of the door with his wand. “And as for Samandriel, let the kid do some actual work for once. He’s been interning here for almost a year and all he ever does it writing stuff down for Naomi. I’m starting to think she keeps him so close because she likes them young.” 

Castiel watches the paper bird glide away. He sighs in defeat. “You’re such an assbut, Uriel.”

*

It’s been couple of hours since his meeting with Uriel and Castiel’s mood is at a freezing point. 

He’s sitting slouched down on a stool in The Floating Bar with his feet hanging down limply like a dead octopus, nursing the same glass of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky he’s ordered two hours ago.

“Would you _please_ stop laughing,” he scowls at his sister.

Hannah clasps her hand over her mouth to muffle her desperate giggles. “I’m trying, but it’s just too funny. I’m sorry!” _She_ certainly seems to be in a good mood, her cheeks flushed from mirth and all the umbrella-d glittery drinks that she’d managed to gulp down during Castiel’s temper tantrum. Mostly Castiel feels like she’s mocking him, though.

“As my big sister, I expected you to be more supportive," he gripes and takes a tiny sip of his drink, grimacing at the watery taste since the ice the bartender had added to it melted about an hour and a half ago. He pulls a sour face and pushes it away.

“I _am_ supportive,” Hannah protests. “It’s just that it’s a little bit ironic, that’s all,” she pats the back of his hand comfortingly.

“ _A little_ ironic?” Castiel growls. “Hannah, I’m almost thirty years old and I still don’t know how _cars work_ ,” he lowers his voice, too embarrassed to let anyone in the bar hear him. 

The city is famous for its Muggle-positivity since the 1980 eruption of Mount St Helens. Then Seattle Department of Mysteries risked heavy sanctions for jeopardizing the secrecy of magic by warning people who lived at the foot of the mountain and several miles northward against the explosion _months_ before it happened. Many Witches and Wizards of Seattle joined in the rescue operation by luring or even forcefully _side-along apparating_ their Muggle neighbours and friends away from the lava’s path and opening their homes to them until they could find a new place to live. Things kind of took off from there and soon enough Washington became the state with the highest rate of marriages between Wizards and Muggles in the country.

On the one hand, Castiel has always been proud of this, but on the other, he’s never really taken part in any Muggle-positive activities and never even talks to Muggles aside from running into them in the street and muttering apologies. He’s practically going in blind on this assignment, which is why he’s so stressed out. Damn his pureblood upbringing.

Hannah shakes her head at his crestfallen face and smiles. “If it makes you feel any better, I think most _Muggles_ don’t even know how cars work.” She pauses, twirling a strand of her brown hair between her fingers. “I mean I know Crowley definitely doesn’t.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s because your boss has a chauffeur. He doesn’t actually _need_ to know. Also, he’s from _England_. Don’t they like, drive backwards, or the other way around there, or something?”

“See? You know things!” Hannah points out with way more enthusiasm than Castiel can muster regarding that one snippet of random car knowledge. “You’re sort of right, though.” She bites down on her lower lip. “I mean, I don’t think I know any other Wizard as hopeless when it comes to the Muggle world as you are.”

“Exactly.” Castiel reaches for his glass, deciding to slide his wand out of his sleeve and use the cooling charm on the rest of his drink. He is damn well going to finish that whisky, because Merlin knows he needs it. 

“The worst thing is that I really need these articles to be good. It’s the biggest opportunity I’ve had since I started working for _the Sorcerer_. I _cannot_ afford to mess it up,” he adds with a desperate edge to his voice.

Hannah nods in understanding, propping her chin up on her hand. “Well then you _won’t_ mess it up.”

Castiel  shakes his head. “It’s like I’ve been living in a bubble and I never even noticed it. I mean, this is not Europe - I should be way more involved in the Muggle world. Maybe I should get one of them… what are they called, eye-pats,” he offers in an uncertain voice.

“You mean _iPods_ , but that’s not the point,” Hannah insists, “look, it’s the twenty first century, Purebloods or not, things have changed around here, especially after the war...” 

Cas winces at the mention of the war, but nods reluctantly.

“Also, you don’t live with our father anymore, _thank Merlin_ _-_ seeing as most of it is his fault anyway,” Hannah points out, her frown deepening. “So I say just go for it. Maybe the assignment will turn out to be a piece of cake, you never know. You’ve been waiting for this way too long to let it slip between your fingers, ok?”

“I’ll figure it out, I suppose,” Castiel promises. “There _are_ like cheap stores for Muggle clothing, right?” There is no way he’s gonna let Uriel or Samandriel pick out his clothes and there is definitely no way he’s spending more money than necessary on one stupid outfit that he’ll only be using for a month. 

Hannah only laughs at him in disbelief.

Castiel’s eyebrows draw together. “No?”

Hannah’s shoulders drop. “No, I mean, yes, but you _so_ don’t want to like a homeless guy, Castiel. Your interview is tomorrow, right? For the room?” she asks in an uncertain tone. (Castiel nods again.) “I mean, you’ll want to make a good impression on those people, so maybe you should go for some sort of fancy clothes - the kind of thing Crowley wears, you know. Black, definitely. With a tie,” she squints her eyes, looking Castiel up and down. “Yes, definitely a tie. Blue, to match your eyes.”

Castiel sighs. “This is going to be a tough month, isn’t it. I mean, I won’t be able to use much magic, since I can’t risk revealing myself.” He looks around the bar, eyeing the floating bottles, the self-wiping tables and the owls up in the rafters. “I don't know anything else, Hannah. I'm not even sure I know how to tie my shoelaces without my wand.”

Hannah shakes her head. “Now you’re just exaggerating. I think this will actually be good for you,” she pauses, finishing off her umbrellaed drink and licking her lips. She dusts her glitter-stained hands on her pants, leaning back in her chair. “I mean, you said it yourself - it’s time you stopped living in a bubble. And if you write an incredible story for your magazine while you’re at it, that’s a great bonus, isn’t it? Maybe you’ll even make new friends,” she adds pointedly. “I mean, you’re my precious little brother and I love you, but I’m kind of tired of being your only sounding board.” 

Castiel just keeps glowering at his whisky like it personally offended him, before he comes to a decision and determinedly downs the rest of it in one go. 

“I’m regretting all of my life choices right now,” he croaks. As he feels the whisky burn its way down his throat and watches Hannah giggle again, he hopes he doesn’t make too big of a fool of himself at the interview tomorrow.

*  *  *

“Hey what’s this dude’s name again?” Dean pops his head into the living room, frowning in concern.

“Castiel Novak. And for the last time, he’s a twenty-nine years old, healthy, working man, with one small pet. He’s perfect for us, so can we _please_ stop this now? He’s gonna be here any minute.” 

Sam’s voice has an irritated edge to it, but that doesn’t stop Dean from talking. He’s the big brother after all - it’s the law.

“But we definitely agree that if either one of us doesn’t like the guy he’s not getting the room, right?”

Sam groans from his seat on the couch and sets the Playstation controller down on the coffee table. “ _Dean._ This is the eleventh person we’re interviewing and I gotta tell you, I’m a bit worn down.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his mouth pursing into a pout. 

Dean immediately feels a little bit guilty. Not guilty enough to just give up, though. This is _his_ apartment. _He’ll_ be paying the lion’s share of the rent, therefore _he_ should be the one to have the last word when it comes to their new roommate.

“Look, Sammy, you’re way too young to understand that not all people are good. We need to be careful about letting any weirdos in here. And since you don't seem to have any self-preservation and you _definitely_ don’t have a very good track record when it comes to judging people’s character...” Dean looks at his brother pointedly.

Sam snorts and squints at him. “Ok, well, tell me what was wrong with the last one, then?”

“Cole?”

“Yeah, he was cool - I mean, he even said he would get us back into shape. You could definitely do with some crunches, dude,” Sam adds, pointing at Dean’s slightly pudgy stomach. 

Dean sticks his tongue out, brushing a self-conscious hand across his lower abdomen. “Yeah, like that’s what we need, another John Winchester constantly on our case, riding our asses at six am to do squats. I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Sam makes a face, but doesn’t argue his point any further, thankfully.

“Ok, what about Amelia, then? _She_ was nice, wasn’t she?”

Dean raises one eyebrow. “Dude, she was a vet.” 

Sam rolls his eyes so forcefully his whole body almost moves along with it. “Oh my god. What could possibly be wrong with that?”

Dean leans against the doorframe, mirroring Sam and crossing his arms over his chest. “Just because someone likes animals it doesn’t mean they’re a good person, Sammy. Did you know that Hitler was a vegetarian?”

“What does Hitler have to do with our apartment?”

Dean loses his patience. “Ok, she was ogling you like a piece of meat, if you really want know!” 

Sam gives him a scandalized look. “No, she was not!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m just saying that you can’t judge a book by its cover, ok? Who knows who this _Cas-teel_ guy who’s coming over is? He can’t be all there, with a name like that, mark my words.”

Sam shakes his head again, pointing a finger at Dean. “Casti _el_. And who’s judging a book by its cover now? Besides, wasn’t it you who brought a complete stranger to the apartment _just last night_? I had to put on fricking _Thunderlord_ to drown out the noise you two were making.”

Dean feels his face flush. He and Sam rarely discuss Dean’s sex life and there’s a good reason for that. 

“ _So_ not the same thing and you know it,” he grits through his teeth. “And I would appreciate if you stopped sticking your nose into my business.”

Sam rolls his eyes dramatically. “Get over yourself, Dean, I’m not dad. I don’t care that the person you brought home last night was obviously a guy. It’s not about that, ok, it’s about you being a complete hypocrite.”

Dean scrambles his hands over his face. “Look, that’s _different_ ,” he stresses, “this is our _home_. None of those people ever stay overnight if I can help it.”

Sam slides his feet down onto the carpet, his face determined. “Dean. This Castiel person actually sounds really nice. I like him already just from the description and I think you’ll like him as well. I think you should try a little harder when he gets here and at least get to know him before you tell him no. The list of people who want to live here is not actually endless.”

“I’m not gonna promise you anything,” Dean says slowly. “He could still be a serial killer.”

Sam’s frown deepens. “We need a roommate, Dean, you know we do. I can see how much you’re running yourself into the ground to pay for everything. And if you still don’t want to let me help out more-”

“Definitely not,” Dean’s face turns into a stone. “You have to focus on your classes. You spend too much time wearing an apron at that hoity toity coffee shop as it is.”

Sam shrugs. “Then you’re gonna have to compromise. We’ll put your bed in my room. The new guy will take your old room. It will work out. We discussed it. We’ll pick someone nice. It’s going to. Be. _Fine_.”

“I feel like it’s harder to argue my point when you start talking in short sentences,” Dean grunts.

Sam doesn’t break eye-contact. “Does that mean we’re still on for Castiel?”

Dean sighs. “Yes, we’re still on for Cas _-teel_.”

“Deal!” His whole face is beaming. “I _cannot_ wait for him to get here.” 

Dean takes a deep breath and for a split second tries to believe his brother’s words. It only lasts until the doorbell rings and Dean realises that if this guy is decent enough, they’re probably going to be stuck with him for the foreseeable future, bumping into the dude in the morning in the kitchen in his boxer briefs (or y-fronts, maybe? and ew, Dean really hopes this Castiel guy is not an y-fronts person), sharing laundry…

...and just what have they got themselves into?

“I’ll get the door,” Sam exclaims, springing out of the couch in one fluid motion, which Dean finds quite impressive seeing as his brother is a sasquatch who’s almost as tall as the couch is long, and runs to the door, waving his hand at Dean in the process. 

“You finish lunch and get the beers.”

“Yes, mom.” Dean steels himself for the worst and retreats back to the kitchen where his onions have meanwhile turned into charcoal.

*  *  *

Castiel is shaking like a leaf as he listens to the heavy footsteps approaching the door. 

He keeps telling himself he’s being silly, that there is no need to be afraid of the two young Muggle men living here (they couldn’t hurt him if they wanted, seeing as he is the one with the magical abilities and all), that this neighbourhood looks both nice and lively enough to make his research count and that his clothes do not look stupid. That doesn’t stop the doubts and anxiety flares from jolting through his mind like thunderbolts, though. The tremors get so violent he starts suspecting that someone has hit him with a _Jelly-Legs Jinx_ on his way up, but he dismisses that thought quickly, seeing as he actually _apparated_ to the house and he hadn’t talked to anyone except for Hannah and Samandriel all day. 

So yep, looks like he’s super nervous. What a good way to start.

Castiel looks down at his outfit for what seems like the hundredth times to check if everything is in place, but it doesn’t really matter how many times he does it, he has no idea what's right and what's wrong when it comes to Muggle fashion. He listened to Hannah and purchased something called ‘a suit’, which consisted of a white shirt tucked into a pair of loose black slacks, black jacket that could also be buttoned if he chooses to do so and a sky-blue tie, which Castiel had no idea how to fasten around his neck, so he just put his head through the loop and hoped for the best. He’s topped the look with a tan overcoat. Nobody batted an eyelash at the store, but for all Castiel knows, he’s a walking fashion disaster right now. 

Maybe Uriel was right. He has no idea what he’s doing. Period. Too late to ask for help now, though, isn’t it.

The door finally flies open and Castiel is faced with a young Muggle in his early twenties with shaggy hair and huge brown eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, though he has no idea what, but the man thankfully speaks first.

“Hi, you must be Castiel, I’m Sam Winchester - just call me Sam,” he rattles out, extending his surprisingly long arm towards him.

“Um. Hello, Sam,” Castiel shakes the offered hand politely. So far, so good. “I hope I’m not too early. The traffic was… particularly fast this afternoon,” he adds, his mouth dry as a desert. He’s starting to sweat under his coat.

Sam smiles, putting Castiel at ease a little bit and gestures for him to come inside. “That’s fine,” he assures him. “You’re not too early at all, don't worry, my brother is nearly done with lunch. We were hoping you would join us.”

Castiel toes off his shoes in the tiny hallway, noting how awfully small the apartment seems already and he’s only just gotten a small peek. (Will they even offer him his own room or would he be expected to sleep in the same space as them? Do Muggles even value privacy as much as Wizards do or is that different as well? Castiel is starting to feel dizzy from all the questions that are popping into his head, so he simply decides to stop thinking for a while and go with the flow. Damn it, Hannah would be proud.)

“Lunch would be lovely, thank you,” he says in a wooden tone. He can’t figure out what to do with his hands, so he just sticks them in the pockets of his coat and looks up at Sam expectantly, forcing his lips to stretch into what he knows is a somewhat constipated  smile.

Sam chuckles. “Dude, you can take your coat off too, that’s what the hangers are for.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s eyebrows fly upwards. Such a staggeringly obvious thing to miss - he hadn’t even considered he would be taking off his overcoat, which is why he’d stashed his wand in the sleeve,  which means he’ll now either have to remain wandless for the duration of the interview and feel incredibly antsy and defenceless, or leave the coat on and seem like a complete dork to the Winchesters. 

“I’d prefer to keep it on, if that’s alright.” Castiel clears his throat, lowering his voice as he struggles to inject some sincerity into it. “I believe I may have recently ‘caught a bug’,” he raises his hands to indicate the quotation marks, “so I feel rather chilly at times. Hope it’s not an issue.” 

Sam chuckles again, shaking his head. “Man, no, of course it’s ok, you can wear whatever you like. Knock yourself out.” 

They move to the kitchen, which turns out to be only slightly bigger than a decent-sized owl cage. Castiel scans the room, his eyes settling on a man bent over the counter as he focuses on chopping up vegetables. The man’s shoulders are broad and Castiel doesn’t miss the rhythmical shift of his muscles under his t-shirt as he works the knife, suddenly feeling a little bit too hot under the collar of his dress-shirt. Castiel immediately pushes the dirty thoughts that pop into his head into the very back of his mind and squares his shoulders, focusing on the role he is playing..

“Castiel, this is my brother Dean and Dean, this is Castiel Novak, he’s here for the interview, of course.” 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean slowly wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, taking his time. When he finally turns around, his eyes bore into Castiel. 

“Hey.”

Castiel is immediately taken by Dean’s face. Not just because it’s an attractive face (because Castiel apparently managed to score an interview with people that look like they’ve just popped out of the cover of _Witch Weekly_ \- not that Castiel ever buys _Witch Weekly_ ); there is something else about it that entices him. Maybe the way Dean’s eyes express a mixture of surprise and a little bit of a challenge at the same time? And while Castiel realises he probably shouldn’t stare, he just can’t help himself.

“Nice meeting you, um, _Cas-tee-el_. I hope you like chilli,” he adds, jerking his head in the direction of the cauldron ( _pot,_ Castiel quickly corrects himself) that’s sitting on the stove.

“Yes, I do.”

Castiel is taken aback, because yes, he likes chilli, but would the Muggle version taste like the one he would order at the Grindylow Tavern on 1st Avenue or maybe like the one their cook used to make? Castiel’s mother was always particular about the amount of billywig sting slime and dried nettle in her recipe, although most Wizards preferred using pond slime instead for its less tangy aftertaste...

“We’re having the Winchester chilli today. It’s an old family recipe,” Dean adds, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Castiel grunts in agreement. It doesn’t look like Dean is using any of the familiar tastes he remembers from his childhood, but there are no ‘weird’ muggle ingredients on the counter either, so he figures he should be ok (unless Dean slipped Draught of Living Death into the mixture when he wasn’t looking). All in all, it can’t be any worse than that pea soup Uriel once served him in his apartment that tried to eat his nose.

When they finally sit down to eat their food, Dean keeps staring at Castiel and Castiel knows he should have gone for a different outfit, he _knows it_ , but there’s nothing to be done now. The truth is  Castiel couldn’t help but be instantly taken with the tan overcoat when he saw it at the Muggle second-hand clothing store. He couldn’t imagine not wearing robes for a whole month and the coat was the closest thing to one he could find there. Now it feels like something of a security blanket.

“So, are you like an accountant or something?” Dean finally asks after what seems like light years of studying the shoddy lapels of Castiel’s coat. 

Castiel puts his spoon down and slowly nods, glad he finally gets a chance to use some of the information he had drilled into his head with Hannah’s help before coming here. 

“I work as an accountant for a small-ish company downtown. They don’t exactly pay me much, so there’s no way I could afford my own apartment, but I really like this area, so I decided to try to find a room here. And here I am.”

“And here you are,” Sam smiles appreciatively and dabs his lips with a napkin, having already inhaled his portion of chilli (Castiel has no idea where he put it, as quickly as he ate it). “And by the way, you can relax man; you’re doing good, this is not a cross-examination.”

Castiel smiles back at Sam tentatively, losing some of the tension in his shoulders. Maybe this _will_ go well, after all. Maybe Samandriel hasn’t fucked up royally by sending him to this apartment. Maybe he’ll manage to stay here for a month without accidentally revealing the whole world of magic to the Muggles and he’ll write his articles and finally gets some recognition in the magazine.

Maybe this would be his time, finally.

And maybe not, he thinks as he locks eyes with Dean again and sees that suspicious look still on his face. Castiel feels like he’s about to break out in sweat and not just because of all that heat in his chilli (turns out that the old Winchester recipe is about 99 percent hot chillies and 1 percent everything else, which is only slightly better than if Dean actually put the poison in).

“What do _you_ guys do?” Castiel asks, his voice has come out all deep and scratchy, affected by the spicy meal. 

“Well I’m still in college,” Sam announces between swallows of his water, “Studying cultural anthropology at U-Dub. It’s awesome.”

Castiel nods in acknowledgement. He’s pretty sure he should be impressed, even though he has no idea what cultural anthropology might mean. College is something Muggles seem to be very focused on when it comes to their young ones. For Castiel it’s still hard to understand the appeal of a place where one needs to sit quietly for over an hour and take notes, just to be given an exam about them. Wizards don’t do that. They have training programmes and special institutions that prepare you for the _practical_ aspect of your career of choice. In the Wizarding world, most of your future rides on how well you do in high school, which is not very ideal when you still have no idea what you want to do at 18. Luckily Castiel has always enjoyed writing ever since he was a little boy, so he didn’t have to go through the excruciating career choice meltdown after high-school.

“Sammy’s the brains of the family.” Castiel can hear the pride in Dean’s voice, but for some reason it fades when he continues. “I’m an engineer, although there aren’t exactly a lot of openings for that at the moment around Seattle, so I’m currently helping out at my buddy’s garage as a simple mechanic.” His eyes harden as if he were bracing himself for some kind of a blow. 

Castiel blinks a couple of times.

“Like, with cars?” He asks with genuine interest. “Wow!” For a split second he’s almost sure he just made a complete fool out of himself as one of Dean’s eyebrows goes up in genuine confusion. “I mean, I find cars fascinating,” he adds quickly. “They’re _magical_.”

He nearly slaps a hand across his mouth when the M-word slips out, but luckily it looks like Dean is much more taken aback by his interest in cars in general.

“Really?” He frowns, the frown lines appearing between his eyes not at all appealing to Cas, no, seriously. Why would they? “You find cars fascinating?”

Castiel keeps nodding, following Hannah’s advice and being as honest as possible without revealing the truth (although he’s already literally said the word magic, so how much worse could it possibly get).

“I do,” he shrugs and then adds in a sheepish tone: “Full disclosure, I don’t really understand how they work, which is probably the main reason I like them.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam lean back in his chair with the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen on a grown man. Meanwhile, Dean’s expression turns into one of genuine surprise and something not entirely unlike delight.

“Oh I’m sure Dean can clue you in,” Sam suggests slyly.

“I would like that, actually,” Castiel reveals, cocking his head to one side, slightly confused by the death stares the brothers start exchanging across the table. 

Castiel decides to ignore them in the end and swallows another spoonful of his chilli, slowly coming to actually enjoy the taste as his mouth gets used to the sharp pain that inevitably comes with every mouthful. If he were home right now, he would just use a cooling charm and that would be it, but he reminds himself that for the good of his article he needs to do as many things the Muggle way as possible, which includes suffering through what is obviously some kind of Winchester rite-of-passage lunch. Challenge accepted.

“You ok with that chilli over there, buddy? I may have made it tad hotter than usual,” Dean asks with a tiny smirk as if he could read his thoughts. 

Castiel actually stops with his spoon halfway to his mouth before he reminds himself that no, Dean could not actually be using _legilimency_ on him because a) it’s illegal in Washington and b) Dean is a Muggle.) Instead, he swallows as quickly as possible and then another one and another one until he finishes the whole thing and sets his spoon down.

“Lunch was delicious, Dean. Can I help with the dishes?” 

Challenge won.

Dean stares at him, but he doesn’t say anything. He does squint slightly, though.

“Dude, no way, you’re a guest,” Sam cries out in protest, but Dean silences him by reaching across the table and patting his hand.

“It’s fine if he wants to help, Sammy. Might as well get used to it.” 

Dean says it nonchalantly, almost as an afterthought, so Castiel doesn’t get it at first, but that shit eating grin which has found its way back on Sam’s face speaks volumes and suddenly Castiel can’t help but feel like he’s won some sort of prize.

“That means you can move in,” Sam beams at him, starting to bounce on his chair like a five-year-old.

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise and his head whips back to Dean, who gives him a quick smile before standing up and collecting the plates from the table. “Yeah, yeah yeah, grab a towel before I change my mind, Cas. And take your coat off, unless you want to get it drenched.”

Castiel stands up, torn between happiness at finding a place to live and the fact that Dean gave him a nickname and confusion about having to disrobe for some reason. 

“But the lady in the store said it was perfect for both rainy and hot days.”

His confusion intensifies when both Sam and Dean start laughing.

*  *  *

After Castiel leaves to do some ‘accountant stuff and things’ (his words, including the air quotes, which Dean found only _slightly_ unsettling) with a promise to come back tomorrow and actually _move in_ for real, Dean can’t help but feel good about his decision. Yes, Castiel isn’t exactly what either of them envisioned when they first started looking for a roommate, yet somehow, it feels like it was meant to be in an odd sort of way: The two of them and Castiel, the dishevelled tax accountant. 

“Well I’ll be damned, we finally found a roommate,” Sam says as if he was reading his mind, when they’ve settled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and the DVD of _Young Frankenstein_ starting up.

Dean sinks deeper into the cushions and pops his feet up on the coffee table, cracking open a bottle of beer with a loud _tssst_. 

“Imagine that, Sammy.” 

Sam doesn’t just stop there, though. Because Sam apparently never stops. 

“So... not to be smug or anything, but I knew he’d be great. I knew right away when I read his response to our ad.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and starts picking at the label on the bottle. “You realise this is just a fancy way of saying ‘I told you so’, right? Also, are you sure you didn’t just want to meet him because it said he had a pet?”

Sam shrugs, grabbing a handful of popcorn, which tells dean everything he needs to know. 

“I wanna know what made _you_ like him in the end,” Sam muses. “Was it the fact that he passed your chilli test?” 

He stuffs the fistful into his mouth, chewing loudly. 

Dean hesitates. “No, but I was really impressed by that. I thought he was gonna break a sweat, especially since he was wearing his coat the whole time.”

Sam nods. “So there’s that, but what made you think he was better than everyone else we interviewed? I know it’s not the pet thing. You don’t really like pets.”

Dean shrugs, not really sure how to explain to his little brother that there was something about Castiel that made him want to get to know him better without having to deal with more shit-eating grins today. 

“Nothing, actually, I just had this feeling that there’s… I don’t know, dude...” 

That there was something about the way Castiel spoke, the awkward way he moved, the way his eyes seemed to take everything in with so much enthusiasm as if he were experiencing things for the first time like a small child, that made Dean want to cook for him and introduce him to his favourite movies and his favourite brands of whisky and for them to be…

...to be _buddies_ , essentially. 

He hasn’t felt like this for a long time. Not even with Benny, who’s been the closest thing he has to a best friend to him since they came to Seattle two years ago. And sure, Castiel didn’t seem like the obvious choice for a new friend, but that’s what would just make things more exciting. 

Dean looks over at Sam to find him staring back with a content smile. 

“You had a feeling that he’d fit right in around here, didn’t you.”

Dean exhales in relief, relaxing a little. Leave it to his little brother to express it way better than he ever could.

“You like this guy, too, don’t you.” He’s regretting the “too” only a little. 

Sam shrugs. “Well, he _does_ have a pet,” he points out, but when he notices Dean’s raised eyebrows he starts laughing. “I’m just kidding. Yes, I like him. I think he’ll fit in just fine around here.”

“Me too,” nodded Dean, returning the smile, if a little hesitantly, “me too, Sammy.”

They both keep grinning like lunatics, before Dean recovers and clears his throat, trying to ignore the fact that he’s blushing. 

“Did we actually not ask Cas what kind of pet it is?” 

Sam perks up. “See I knew we forgot something! Oh man! I wonder if he’s bringing it in tomorrow? I kind of hope it’s something small and fluffy. Like a hamster or a mini-llama. Or a guinea pig. Guinea pigs are friendly!”

Dean raises his eyebrows. Also what the fuck, mini-llamas are a thing?

“Sammy, you’re actually twenty, not twelve, alright? I think you’re getting way too excited. What if it’s something horrible, like a tarantula?”

Sam’s face falls, and Dean laughs.

“Oh calm down, it’s probably like a bird or something. He doesn’t seem like an adventurous guy. I do hope it’s not a rodent. Or a cat. Or a dog. On the other hand can you imagine Cas with a guinea pig?”

*  *  *

**Today in our weekly column, as part of the _National Muggle Awareness Month_ , Castiel opens up about his first couple of days in an all-Muggle household:**

_Dear Witches and Wizards of Seattle, before I delve into any descriptions of what it’s like to brush your teeth without magic, let me introduce this series by a bit of musing: Muggles live in a bubble; their world is not better or even marginally different from our world, it’s just… protected. The way they get up every day, blinking into the light like newborn kittens, unaware that there is a whole other world around (beneath? above?) their world, one that they have no awareness of… it makes me feel both protective and jealous of them. Protective because of how content they are in their ignorance of the magical world, and jealous, because as we all know, ignorance is bliss. They don’t know about us, no, but that also means that they don’t know about the Second Wizarding War (or the First one, at that) nor that the real reason so many of them died between 1994 and 1998 (according to my research, all these deaths have been ascribed to gas leaks, accidents, natural disasters and Merlin knows what else) was because one Wizard somewhere in the UK did not find them worthy of living._

_Upon going through the folder with information about the Muggle way of living my superiors have so kindly given to me to make sure I was prepared, I realised there was no way I was going to understand it all by reading parchments. And I was right. Nothing could ever prepare me for sharing a living space with two grown men period, let alone sharing it with two Muggles. Living in a Muggle apartment is hard work. First I had to learn to keep my wand out of my reach in my room (Wizard’s worst nightmare), so I could stop being tempted to use it to do the smallest things like tie my shoelaces, wash my hair or rid myself of sweat with a simple fanning charm on a particularly hot day, which made me realise how much I’ve always taken these things for granted, being raised by radical purebloods. Once I began doing the dishes, the laundry, and taking the garbage out on regular basis - all without magic, I realised why so many Wizard parents make their children “do it the Muggle way” and call it educational._

_My roommate DW* often joins me for dish washing  duty, saying that “it cleanses the soul”, which I presume is a Muggle way of saying that manual work helps relax our minds. I find I am learning a lot from DW when it comes to understanding the basics of being a Muggle. He’s a humble yet proud man, if I can be so presumptuous as to use these words together, which makes him a prime example of a good Muggle. And not just that - a good human being. At least in my opinion. Sadly, he does not seem to share it, despite the fact that I’ve yet to see him disprove the idea._

_Castiel Novak_

_______________

_*_ _the full name of Castiel’s roommate has been withheld by_ The Seattle Sorcerer _to protect his identity_

 

 *

“So I bought _The Sorcerer_ this morning.” 

Castiel almost doesn’t hear Hannah through the screaming crowd, too focused on getting the last raisin out of his packet of Wizard Mix until she shoves a copy of the magazine under his nose, shielding his view.

“Hey, I nearly had that raisin,” he exclaims, only a little annoyed. He locks eyes with his sister, who is wearing her ‘Oh, _Castiel_ ’ smile. 

“I take it you read my article.” He finally gives up on the raisin and offers Hannah the rest of the packet, not really fond of banana chips and sunflower seeds anyway. She squints her eyes at him suspiciously, but takes it from him while he stares down in the direction of the pot at the end of the pitch, where the New York Nogtails just scored another goal, beating the Seattle Shrakes by another 10 points.

It’s not that Castiel is blasé about the first installment of his series. Not at all, actually... It’s just that he’d thought writing about the Muggle world would be much more difficult when it came to actual practical issues, like how do you actually send a letter if your owls are all locked up in something called the zoological gardens. That he wouldn’t know where to begin with all of their electrical appliances and strange food and complicated grooming habits. In the end he found that all that could be summarized in a couple of sentences. What was way more challenging was understanding the Muggle take on life. Life without a ‘higher power’, whatever that meant for Wizards, a life where you had to rely on your brain and your hands to get by. 

Once he and the Winchester brothers settled into a routine in the apartment, it was surprisingly easy to function as... well, _a Muggle_. 

Sure, Castiel still used magic in the safety of his room or when he is locked in the bathroom (there is no way he would ever manage to shave as well as he does now without his wand, which would definitely raise a suspicion) and he still sends Gabriel on his regular mail runs, whether it’s to the office or to Hannah, but other than that, he finds that he doesn’t actually need to use magic all the time. 

It’s actually kind of refreshing and it reminds him of the time before he turned twenty-one and was not _allowed_ to use any of his powers. Back then he was itching to use them. Itching to _apparate_ somewhere, to comb his hair with magic, to turn his pumpkin juice into wine… but now it’s different. 

Having Dean around to show him how easy it is to _not_ use magic has proven the best possible way to learn about the Muggle world and Castiel is ecstatic he has ended up with the Winchesters of all Muggles to introduce him to it. He hasn’t gotten as far as forgetting about _Alohomora_ and _Lumos_ (especially when he forgets to turn on the light at night and manages to stub his toe on something while getting water in the middle of the night), but watching Dean do little things around the apartment - like cooking or fixing the coffee machine when it broke down or even sweeping the floor - has brought him really close to that point. Then again, Castiel is not completely sure if that’s more a Dean thing than a Muggle thing in general. 

“Was there something wrong with my writing?” 

Castiel turns to look at Hannah, who stops munching on the last peanut she managed to find in the packet. She shakes her head furiously.

“Not at all, I just wanted to ask you if you’re on any level aware that the stuff you’re writing seems really private and sort of ...intimate,” she gives him a pointed look.

Castiel’s frown deepens. “What do you mean? I didn’t write anything that could be classified as _intimate._ ”

Hannah chuckles. “Oh dear. It’s even worse than I thought. Well, alright, then, if you’re so sure,” she winks.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well if you can’t figure it out on your own, I’m certainly not going to be the one to break it to you.”

“But what do you _mean_?” Castiel demands like a petulant child, taking the magazine back and furiously leafing through it to get to the _National Muggle Awareness Month_ feature. He grimaces at the blown-out picture of his face intently staring at the camera like a mass murderer, tempted to poke himself so that he looks somewhere else, like to the corner of the frame, before he quickly scans the article, desperate to find what Hannah is getting at.

Hannah watches him for a while, but then she sighs, looking back down on the pitch where the Nogtails just scored another goal.

“I’ll keep you posted,” she says, smiling to herself. “Merlin do I love my life sometimes.”

Castiel can’t suppress the pout, just as a group of _four_ of their players have to leave the pitch because the Quod somehow exploded in all of their hands’ at the same time.

“This game sucks, just like you.” 

*  *  *

Cas has been their roommate for nearly two weeks when Dean finally decides to show him around the area before the poor bastard drowns himself in numbers and and color-coordinated binders. 

Moving to Seattle was a huge shock to Dean’s system two years ago. Sam adapted quickly, since he was only eighteen and freakishly good at making new friends, which made a fresh start in a brand new city a really great experience for him, but Dean’s beginnings were a little rougher. 

There were things about Seattle he found familiar, comforting even - the popularity of flannel being one of them, but then there were a lot of things that were brand new to his country boy upbringing. Not only did he have to get used to people actually smiling at him and wanting to shake his hand instead of reaching for their guns, but he had shake off lot of things John Winchester had previously taught him about life that turned out to be completely wrong. Most importantly, the way more liberal feel of Seattle has opened his eyes to possibilities he had long dismissed for himself. 

Two years might be a long time, but Dean is still trying to get his sea legs here, which is best achieved by regularly visiting his favourite bar. Why didn’t he ask Cas to join him there sooner, then?

Dean keeps telling himself that they were both too busy settling in (technically, Dean has moved as well, since he and Sam are now sharing a room, which has gone surprisingly well thanks to the fact that Sam spends most of his time in class or at work) and also, it’s not like there were plenty of opportunities to just ask Cas out. 

 _To see stuff_. Not out on a date, of course, which is what Dean keeps repeating to himself all the way to Cas’ bedroom. 

It’s just two bros hanging out, simple as that (even if referring to Castiel Novak as a ‘bro’ feels just plain wrong). Certainly nothing to make things around the apartment complicated, _oh no_ , because that would be bad, that would be so very bad. Especially since Cas has settled in so well with them. Dean couldn’t possibly do anything to jeopardize that 

Dean can tell Cas is there because he can hear the scratching of pen against paper, which has been a constant for the past couple of days (Dean had no idea being an accountant required so much handwriting, but then again, Castiel doesn’t seem to own any electronics and he never brings his work computer home, so it it’s not like he would be typing anyway.).

“Ya busy, Cas?” He knocks on the door, chuckling to himself at the rustle of wings and a surprised hoot from Castiel’s owl, Gabriel.

Oh yeah. Castiel’s pet is an owl. Dean thought his brain was going to implode when Castiel revealed what the animal actually was. While Sam almost peed his pants at the prospect of living with a real owl, it messed with Dean’s perception of the guy a little. He simply couldn’t imagine Castiel being one of those douchebags who buy exotic animals just to look cool. Not that Gabriel could ever make anyone look cool, since he usually slept all day and when he didn’t,  he would entertain himself by perching at strategically chosen positions around the apartment and giving Dean curious head-tilted stares. So in an odd way, Castiel owning this _particular_ owl kind of makes a lot of sense.

When there’s no response, Dean knocks again, this time more loudly.

“You writing secret love poems in there, Cas?” 

When Castiel finally eases the door open reluctantly, his cheeks are flushed, his hair is mussed and his lips are dry and chapped. He must have been at it the whole damn day by the looks of him.

“Dean,” Castiel rasps. “I hope you haven’t been knocking too long. I tend to block out the outer world when I immerse myself in my work. My apologies.”

“Don’t sweat it, dude,” Dean waves his hand, doing his best not to stare at Castiel’s half-unbuttoned and untucked shirt. Luckily the overall I-just-had-sex impression is slightly spoiled by the fact that he’s wearing his coat over it, which is something that Dean has learnt to accept as a permanent fixture about Castiel. There’s also a finger-shaped ink stain on his cheek.

“Obligatory break time Cas; you look terrible,” Dean says, letting himself into Castiel’s room. Gabriel lets out another loud hoot and then starts pecking at the bars, no doubt trying to figure out a way to get out of his cage and beak Dean to death.

“You realise people have been using ballpoint pens since the 19th century, right?” Dean utters as he passes the desk full of documents covered in neat handwriting and more ink stains. 

Cas shoots him a wry and distracted smile and then drags his hand through his hair, making it even more messy in the process. 

“I like quills,” he shrugs.

Dean taps his finger against his lip, smirking.

“Well at least I know what to get you for your birthday, weirdo.”

“What time is it?” Castiel asks, his tone suggesting he’s a little disoriented. He stretches his arms over his head, a couple of his vertebrae making protesting noises in the process. “I think I overdid it a little today.”

“You don’t say.” Dean settles on Castiel’s bed as far away from the owl cage as possible and gestures towards the window, where the sky has already turned red and purple. “It’s _late_ , dude. I just got home from work. You really been here all day?”

“I’ve been working on some reports,” Castiel nods, scratching the beginnings of stubble on his cheek and smearing more ink across his face in the process.

Dean chuckles at the sight, but refuses to linger on the adorableness. “Well, take a break, inkyfingers, we’re going out.”

Cas' eyebrows draw up. “Out where?” His voice is so full of anxiety Dean has to suppress the urge to cross the room and hug him, reminding himself that he barely knows the dude, dammit, however scruffy and confused he may look right now, because that’s just not what people do. He’s starting to doubt that he and Castiel will ever be anything like conventional roommates, though, so maybe hugging would be ok...

“For drinks,” he clarifies. “Don’t worry, nothing too drastic. It’s time you saw some more of the neighbourhood. My buddy’s bar is really close.” He then looks Castiel up and down again, sighing. “You’re not wearing the coat, though.”

“I’m not?” Castiel stares down on himself self-consciously, smoothing his palm over one of the lapels that sticks out from having been trapped between the desk and his chest when he worked.  

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “It’s May. It’s like 80 degrees outside, man. Don’t you ever take it off?”

“I like the coat…” Castiel’s face seems troubled. “What if it rains?”

Dean just rolls his eyes in response. 

“This is Seattle, Cas, it always rains. Take. It. Off.”

When Castiel gently shrugs out of the coat and lays it over his chair and he’s standing there wearing just that half-unbuttoned untucked white shirt and black slacks that are so big on him they make him look like a model from the 80s, it’s Dean who suddenly feels bothered and it’s for two reasons:

  1. Without the coat, Castiel looks like an advertisement for sex.
  2. Without the coat, Castiel looks just plain wrong.



“Oh god, put the coat back on,” Dean blurts out, looking away.

“I don’t understand, Dean.”

Dean sighs, trying to find the right words to explain it to him.

“It’s like seeing a hermit crab out of his shell. It’s just _weird_ , man. Just put it back on. It’s quite windy outside anyway and you can always take it off if it’s too warm in the bar.”

Cas shakes his head and simply slips back into the coat. He looks happy to have it back on, so Dean doubts he’s going to want to have a discussion about this whole exchange, which is a good thing as far as Dean is concerned. 

“You’re a very confusing man, Dean,” he comments, quirking one eyebrow.

“Says the guy with an owl in his bedroom. Let’s _go_.” Dean wipes his suddenly clammy hands on his pants and stands up, shooing Castiel out of the room.

*  *  *

The bar Dean has picked for their first outing could not be more different from   Hannah and Castiel’s go-to establishment, The Floating Bar on pier 57 (you can get in by getting on the Ferris Wheel and drawing “57” with your wand in the air when you’re at the top). It’s very dark and full of smoke, the music is much louder, and the wall behind the bar is covered in shelves with all kinds of Muggle liquor, none of which Castiel has ever tried in his life.

Castiel is at least glad he got to keep his coat on in the end, even if Dean was really weird about it, meaning he has his wand with him, which makes him feel much more confident and safer in uncharted environments like this one. 

The bartender greets Dean with a bear hug and several slaps on the back and it’s the first time since they met that Castiel sees Dean somewhat relaxing into it. 

It’s not a bad sight at all. 

Dean is wearing a burgundy shirt over his black tank top and although it’s not exactly an unusual look for him (Castiel has noticed Dean rarely changes his style of clothing, which is funny, seeing as how he’s constantly nagging Castiel about his outfit), but tonight it seems somehow ...elevated? The shirt is not chequered for once, just one solid color, the tank top underneath clings to Dean’s chest like a second skin and his jeans also seem less loose than other pairs Castiel has seen him wear. His cheeks are already pink from how warm and humid it is in the bar and he’s laughing at something the bartender whispered into his ear, with his whole body, making Castiel’s throat dry.

When the bartender finally lets Dean go with one last slap on the back, Dean puts his arm around his shoulder. He then turns around to give Castiel a wide smile

“Welcome to Benny’s, Cas, the best bar in Seattle - this is Benny, _obviously._ ”

The bartender - Benny - raises an eyebrow as he looks Castiel up and down. His face is not unkind, but it’s guarded and careful. Castiel would be able to tell that this man is very fond of Dean by the way his small eyes are boring into him if it wasn’t clear from their greeting already. If Benny were a Wizard, he would probably be really good at nonverbal spells, Castiel muses.

“That your new roomie, Dean?”

“Cas has just moved from the business district, which is exactly why he looks like he’s just moved from the business district,” Dean jokes, touching Cas' back with his other hand in the process. “Drinks are on me tonight, Benny, alright?”

Benny nods, still looking at Castiel like he’s not yet decided whether he’s good enough to hang out with Dean. Castiel kind of wants to whip out his wand and hex him, to be honest.

“What’s your poison, brother?” Benny asks in his strong, drawly accent.

“Just order whatever Cas, I’m paying,” Dean quips, smiling at him encouragingly.

“Um, whisky?” Castiel tries, hoping that there is some kind of good Muggle equivalent to Ogden’s, because he certainly needs one if he’s to survive in this place the whole night.

“Yeah I could go for that as well, actually,” Dean tells Benny, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiles again. 

When Benny leaves to take care of their orders and Castiel and Dean settle down at the bar, Dean turns his full attention back to him.

“I take it you don’t kick back very often judging by your strenuous writing routine back at the apartment,” he wonders.

Castiel’s eyebrows draw together into a slight frown.

“Is it that unusual?” He wonders. “I mean, I do admit that my working routine can be a bit extreme at times, but it is effective. I prefer working intensely in shorter bursts of time.”

Dean shakes his head. “No objections here, man, we were just worried about you. You were in your room the whole day without having anything to eat or drink. I know Sammy was already mentally planning to install a cat flap in your door just so he could slip you some food.”

And Castiel could slap himself, really, because _of course_ he was not stuck in his room all day without food or water. Just during the course of the morning, he _apparated_ to the office and back _five times_ , which is not including that one time he had to pop back because Samandriel had _somehow_ locked himself in the bathroom on the third floor without his wand. 

“I have a really slow metabolism. My body only needs nourishment twice a day,” he ventures, hoping that what he’s saying is at least remotely plausible.

Dean stares at him with a little bit of skepticism, but doesn’t argue, probably because he knows about as much about metabolisms as Castiel does. “Ok, just let us know you’re alive from time to time so Sammy doesn’t call 911,” he laughs in the end, shaking his head.

When Benny finally turns up with their drinks, Castiel picks up the glass and squints at the murky brown liquid inside.

“Dean, would you say that this whisky is a strong alcoholic drink?” 

Dean laughs again, picking up his own glass and bringing it up to his nose to take a whiff. He looks satisfied with the smell by the way his eyes close in pleasure (which definitely does not make Castiel’s toes curl in his shoes).

“Damn straight. That’s Glenkinchie, Cas. Best damn scotch in the area,” Dean says proudly and takes a drink. 

“Ok.” Castiel’s brow furrows as he tries to imitate him and smells his whisky as well. The smell is quite similar to Ogden’s, which is enough to make him dip his lips in the tiny glass and have a little taste of it. Not bad. The depth of the flavour is not as profound as its Wizarding counterpart, but it’s definitely more aromatic and way stronger, which could make getting drunk way easier. _Good_. 

When Castiel sets the glass back down on the table, Dean is staring at him as if he just sprouted another head.

“Are you trying to tell me this is your first time drinking whisky?”

Castiel nods, hoping he just hasn’t stuffed up and that whisky drinking wasn’t some kind of important religious Muggle ritual that everyone has done since childhood. 

“The taste is not unpleasant. I quite like it, actually.”

Dean looks like he’s about to say something else, but then the door of the bar opens again and new group of people comes in. He excuses himself and jumps off of his stool to say hello, because apparently he happens to know _everybody_ in this bar.

And it’s strange at Benny’s. _Dean_ is strange, Castiel thinks, unable to take his eyes off of his Muggle roommate as he makes his way around the small establishment, greeting everyone with hugs and relaxed smiles. 

He seems so strikingly different from his usual self it’s making Castiel question Muggle alcohol and the Muggle way of drinking. Maybe there’s a distinction between how alcoholic drinks affect Muggles and how they affect Wizards. Then again, that would suggest some sort of biological difference, which would suggest that they’re a different species, which is a belief that mugglists all across the world have been fighting against for the past 50 years, so Castiel is not going to touch that with a ten foot pole.

He quickly decides to test that theory, and have as many drinks as he can bear to see what kind of effect they might have on him. He squares his shoulders and takes a hold of his glass again, determined to get to the bottom of this (pun intended) so he can use it in his article tomorrow.

He takes a deep gulp, not paying attention enough to notice another newcomer approaching _him_.

“Well, well, _well,_ doth my eyes deceive me?” 

Castiel promptly chokes on the whisky when he hears the familiar accent, already pretty darn sure he knows who it is attached to. He can also recognise the strong heady smell of patchouli and spices that always seems to linger on Hannah’s clothing. 

When he finally stops sputtering whisky everywhere and turns around, he gets his confirmation.

“Crowley.” Castiel’s voice is deep and roughened up from the cough, which makes it sound more like a growl.

Crowley raises both of his eyebrows and smirks at the sound. 

“The one and only.” 

He’s out of his usual suit jacket, dressed down to a perfectly pressed waistcoat over a white shirt, his face is clean-shaven and his brow is a little sweaty from the heat.

“Get me some of that whisky, mate,” Crowley points at Benny and then takes a seat on the stool Dean has vacated, irritating Castiel.

It’s not that he hates Crowley, not really - he couldn’t even if he wanted to, seeing as he’s his sister’s boss and the most important person when it comes to the connection between Muggle and Wizarding world in Washington. It’s the fact that Crowley is a nosey obnoxious little shit that makes Castiel want to turn him into a slug every time he sees him. (His hand is already twitching to grab his wand and that’s saying something, seeing as Castiel’s self-control is usually excellent.)

“So...” Crowley drags out when he finally has his drink in front of him laid out neatly on a napkin. “Fancy seeing you here, Castiel.”

“I have to admit seeing _you_ here came as a surprise as well.” Castiel grunts. 

Crowley laughs and takes a small sip of his whisky, humming in approval as the liquid slides down his throat.

“Hardly. I come here every Friday, _Gandalf_. It’s the best damn Muggle joint on 2nd Avenue. Of course most of the time I prefer your guys’ drinks - they have a certain… let’s say _charm_ to them.” Crowley takes another tiny sip and winks at Castiel.

Castiel only huffs in annoyance and finally reaches up to loosen his tie, which has been rubbing against his neck in a really uncomfortable way since they got here. No need to look all neat for Crowley, is there.

“I read your article in _The Sorcerer_ on Tuesday, by the way. I have to say I was very impressed with your description of the Muggle world. It was quite a profound piece of writing for someone who lives in Seattle and doesn’t even know what ferries are.”

“Why wouldn’t I know that?” Castiel frowns. “They’re small woodland creatures native to Ireland - you learn that in nursery school, Crowley.”

Crowley shoots him a funny look. 

“My dear pointy-hatted friend, I do suggest you use your Muggles more efficiently and do some research on Muggle means of transport.”

Castiel snorts. “Like you’re the expert... I believe my sister has a better knowledge of Muggle vehicles and _she’s_ _a pureblood_.”

Crowley fake-pouts, laying his hand over his heart (which is funny, seeing as Castiel has always thought he didn’t have one). “You wound me, Castiel. Bringing up my Squib status in public like that.” 

“You’re not a Squib, Crowley, you’re literally a Muggleborn Muggle, you can’t just tell people you’re a Squib when you’re not,” Castiel insists. “It’s misleading. You’re an official, you should know better.”

Crowley sighs and drains his glass before lifting it up to signal Benny that he’s ready for another. Benny makes eye-contact with Castiel, who just shrugs and orders one for himself as well, taking a generous slurp as soon as it lands in front of him. He needs to make this evening as painless as possible and if that means doing more ‘research’ on Muggle alcoholic drinks, well so be it. So far, (Castiel can barely feel the effects, aside from the way the bar has started to slowly spin around.)

“Ok, fine, you win, I’m no Squib,” Crowley says suddenly, slapping Castiel on the back. “But I’m a Wizard at heart, which is why the two of us get on so swimmingly.” 

“Obviously,” Castiel looks away, annoyed, while Crowley chuckles under his breath.

“By the way, am I imagining things or was your writing on your Muggle roommate injected with a lot of homoerotic subtext?”

Castiel nearly chokes on his whisky again. It burns in his throat as he struggles to speak through the pain. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh don’t go all coy on me now, I’m honestly excited about this mysterious roommate of yours. He sounds hot,” he waggles his eyebrows and Castiel’s heart is _this close_ to giving out. 

“There was no subtext in my writing, Crowley,” he insists, “please stop making things up.”

From the corner of his eye he can see Dean making his way back to his (currently occupied) stool with a confused frown, and Castiel knows he has no reason to panic, but he panics anyway.

Crowley is meanwhile giving him even weirder looks. “What on earth just got your knickers in a twist? You face looks like you just swallowed a lemon.”

Castiel fidgets on the stool. “I gather I don’t have to remind you to keep my real identity secret here,” he mumbles to Crowley, gripping his glass tighter in his hand. “Just don’t say anything to Dean, please,” he adds hastily, before Dean finally reaches their table.

Crowley shoots him a mischievous smirk, his eyes sparkling, and Castiel feels like he should start reading up on shovelling charms, because that hole he’ll need to dig himself after the upcoming conversation will definitely have to be very _very_ deep. 

“Hey, I didn’t know you knew the deputy mayor, Cas. Evening, sir.” 

Dean’s voice is a little wooden but it doesn’t sound like he’s faking the friendliness towards Crowley, which suggests the two of them are at least acquaintances. Castiel is not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing.

Crowley’s expression has meanwhile gone through several quick changes, before it settles on half-surprised, half-delighted and full-on smug, as he connects the dots in his head. Castiel is just praying he’s not stupid enough to reveal anything in front of Dean, because that would not only jeopardise his article and the confidentiality of magic in Seattle, but it would probably ended his budding friendship with the Winchesters as well, which would kind of break Castiel’s heart.

“Dean Winchester!” Crowley exclaims, turning around and giving Dean a wide smile. “I took your seat, didn’t I, how rude of me! Castiel and I were just having a little chat about his work.” He claps Castiel on his back again and Castiel’s whole body strains as he resist reaching for his wand and jamming it up his nose to wipe that little smug grin off his face (sometimes hexing people simply isn’t as satisfying).

Dean’s smile is still there even if more subtle now. “You and Cas know each other from work?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Cas proclaims, before Crowley gets the chance to say anything else and mess up his whole cover-story. “I mean, I help Fergus here with taxes sometimes.”

To Crowley’s credit, he doesn’t flinch an inch at Castiel’s use of his first name and merely nods before taking another drink of his whisky. 

“Castiel was a big help to me when I first moved to the States. I’m sad to say we don’t see as much of each other anymore now that he works for this _much bigger company._ His lovely sister is still my assistant, though.”

Dean’s eyebrows fly upwards. “You have a sister, Cas?”

Castiel nods, feeling like this whole conversation could be taking turn to a very dangerous route very soon if he’s not careful enough. 

Maybe he should consider stopping drinking now. 

“I have three older sisters, actually,” he admits a bit sheepishly. 

Crowley’s smile widens as he turns back to Dean, who has meanwhile settled on the other side of Castiel with a new glass of whisky. “I take it Castiel doesn’t talk about his family much. You mustn’t take it personally, Dean. They’re a secretive bunch, the Novaks.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Dean and I have only known each other for two weeks, Crowley,” he points out. “There wasn’t enough time for family stories. Plus, It’s not like I know anything about _his_ family.”

Dean is just about to say something to Crowley when someone in the bar finally calls the devil spawn over and he excuses himself, sliding off his stool and giving Castiel a sly drink before he walks away.

“This guy is a piece of work, eh?” Dean chuckles when they’re alone again and the air is breathable once more. 

Castiel nods, small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Hannah always says he’s a handful. He likes to talk a lot.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I know. He comes here every Friday. We don’t really hang out, or anything, but Benny could tell you stories,” he snorts, eyes sparkling.

Castiel perks up. “I’ll have to ask him about that.” 

Dean takes a sip and relaxes against the bar, propping his head on his hand. “So three sisters. That’s a lot of sisters, Cas.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You have no idea. It’s like having three extra mothers. I was treated like glass until I was nineteen,” he admits and takes a drink of his whisky, finally coming to actually enjoy the taste after he got used to the initial punch of smoky flavour that Ogden’s was lacking.

“Aw, I’m sure being the youngest has its perks,” Dean shakes his head, his smile softening. “Sammy would probably disagree, though.”

Castiel tilts his head to one side, studying Dean’s suddenly vulnerable face. “I don’t think he would. It sounds like he’s been quite fortunate to have you as his big brother. My sisters can be a little overbearing, especially Hannah, but I can’t imagine growing up without them.”

Dean is silent, but Castiel can see the blush spreading across his cheeks, which makes his freckles stand out even more. He can’t help but find him breathtakingly beautiful at that moment. 

“Maybe you’re right. I’m just glad Sammy’s turned out fine in the end. He really loves studying and for a while it looked like we wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

Castiel frowns. “Is it very expensive to go to college?”

Dean blinks back at him in surprise. “You should know, Cas, you went to one, right?”

Castiel’s heart stutters in his chest as he discovers the little hole in his cover-story, but he doesn’t let it rattle him.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he admits carefully. “My parents covered all the expenses when it came to my studies, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

It’s not a lie, because back in Massachusetts where he grew up he actually went to the most prestigious, preppy Wizarding school in the area (the boy’s equivalent of the Salem Institute), which cost his parents nearly 47,900 Gold Ducats a month.

He looks over at Dean sympathetically. “I realise this makes me sound like a snob. It’s because I grew up in a snobbish family.”

“That’s ok, Cas, it’s not your fault you’re a rich bastard,” Dean winks and picks up his glass in a toast, which makes Castiel laugh.

“I’ll drink to that. But really, I think it’s really admirable that you and Sam managed to pay for your studies yourselves. I don’t think anyone from my family would be capable of this. Being born with a silver spoon in your mouth makes a lot of things easy, of course, but then you’re in your late twenties and living on your own and you suddenly realise that you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Well if you put it like that, I guess me and Sammy _are_ better off than you,” Dean jokes. “But then also we both got scholarships in the end, so none of us had to pay any actual tuition. Just so you know.”

Castiel chugs down the rest of his drink and squints his eyes, feeling the alcohol warming his belly. “I feel like you purposely withheld this information just to have me compliment you some more.”

Dean beams at him. “Hell yes. You’ll learn the ways of the Winchesters yet, my dear Mr Novak.”

Castiel isn’t sure if it’s just the alcohol coursing through his veins, or Dean calling him by his last name, or if it’s the feeling of Dean’s body pressed so close to his (and really, when did the chairs get so close to one another again?), but he’s suddenly feeling way too warm in his coat. He can also tell his cheeks are on fire. And he _also_ realises he and Dean haven’t broken eye contact in the last minute without either of them saying a word, which makes him feel _even warmer_.

“I think I should have another drink,” Castiel decides and Dean nods back, breaking eye contact to try and flag down the bartender.

Two more glasses of whisky magically (but not really, Castiel checked) appear in front of them and they clink them before they both dive in.

Castiel is starting to really like Benny’s. It might be different from traditional Wizarding bars, but Castiel is starting to realise that that’s only the first impression. If he thinks about it more in depth, the basic idea is the same. Take away the floating bottles and exploding board games and live goblin music… you’re left with people drinking alcohol and relaxing, people talking and connecting, people sitting so close to one another that their lips are nearly touching in silent conversation, a group of strikingly beautiful men sitting at a table by the door checking out everyone who comes in with hungry glances...

Cas leans heavily against the bar, something just occurring to him.

“Dean, is this a gay establishment?”

Dean laughs, although there is something new in his eyes, something like worry, maybe? 

“No, but good observation skills buddy, seeing as most of the people here _are_ , you know, _queer_ ,” he says. “That’s actually why I like hanging out in here so much. It’s the only place where I can, you know… _relax._ ” He breaths out through his nose, his cheeks colouring. 

Castiel frowns in confusion.

Dean laughs again when he notices the frown, although the laugh has a bit of an edge to it. He takes a bigger gulp of his whisky, slapping the glass back on the table with slightly more strength that one would deem necessary.

“Cas, you’re probably not going to like it here if you don’t like that sort of thing, just so you know.” 

Castiel tilts his head to one side, again, desperately trying to understand.

“I have no opinion on people’s sexuality whatsoever, actually. I mean if you’re talking about specific people, there is no way for me to hate them or be scared of them if I actually don’t know them, I guess? And as far as their preferences go… I am _utterly indifferent_ to that.”

Dean’s shoulders fall. He looks like wants to say something more, but Castiel is not done talking. He simply can’t believe this could be something about which Wizards and Muggles thought so differently. Out of all the possible things...

“Besides, it would be very hypocritical of me if I hated them seeing as I usually prefer men over women myself,” he reasons.

This time it’s Dean who somehow manages to choke on air as he coughs in surprise, staring at Castiel as if he just announced he was secretly into collecting crystal balls. 

“Wait, so you and your sisters were raised in a very strict family, but no one never cared that you liked men?”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s more that we simply never felt the need to discuss these things. My sisters all prefer men to women, although my youngest sister Anna has ‘experimented’ with girls in high school, my aunt from my father’s side is a lesbian, my grandfather’s bisexuality was a known thing even though he married a woman and I _happen_ to prefer men. Who you choose to date never been never a point of contention in my family, up to a point: that point being, when you joined assets. It was always more about how much money the person had and what kind of family they came from than about their gender.”

That gets Dean’s attention. 

“That’s pretty amazing, because I can’t imagine anything being a more pressing topic with _my_ father. I think he’d be fine with my partner being the poorest human being on earth as long as it was a she,” he adds.

Castiel bites down on his lower lip, suddenly realising he’s almost revealed too much with his confusion. Of course in the Wizarding world sexuality has never been a point of contention, period. Heterosexuality is still considered the norm, but any other practices or preferences are usually accepted and encouraged by the majority of Wizarding society as there is no comparable religions or value systems to those existing in the Muggle world. Nature has always been considered the highest power to Witches and Wizards. Logically, if something is possible, it can’t be against nature.

“My father never agreed with my career choices,” Castiel admits, which is not that far from the truth, considering that his father flipped a table (without magic) when Castiel told him he wanted to be a writer and not an Auror like several generations of men from the Novak family.

“Guess your old man wasn’t a fan of accounting, then,” Dean laughs and Castiel nods, because it’s true, isn’t it. 

When it comes to the Muggle world, Castiel’s father never wants to hear about it, let alone support his children in any kind of pursuit of it. Castiel still remembers the fit he pitched back when Hannah was still in high school and decided to take Muggle Studies. They didn’t talk for months. Of course when she announced that she was going to _work_ for a Muggle, he kicked her out of the house.

“No, not at all. My father can be a very opinionated man,” he muses, “but I’m still hoping to change his mind someday.”

Dean is still smiling and Castiel can’t help but smile back, suddenly feeling happy and lightheaded. (And really, why do Wizards even need magic, when there’s so much beauty in the Muggle world. Like Scottish whisky and Dean’s freckles, for instance.)

“So Cas, can I ask you a question?” Dean stares into his glass, his neck reddening under Castiel’s scrutiny.

“What?” 

“Are you really interested in cars or did you just say it to impress us and let you move in? Because I was thinking I would take my car to the garage tomorrow afternoon to give it a look-over. Something’s been bugging me about the engine, and I thought maybe you’d like to tag along? There’ll be nobody else in on a Saturday.”

And Castiel has to laugh because really? How long has Dean been sitting on that question? He can feel his face brightening as he beams at him.

“I am genuinely _very_ interested in cars. Like I told you before, I have no idea how they work. I would be delighted if you could show me,” he answers, his heart fluttering in his chest the whole time he’s speaking at the prospect of spending more time alone with Dean.

Dean beams back and it looks like he’s honestly surprised that Castiel said yes, which makes Castiel tingly all over. 

“Wow, I can’t wait to learn more about cars,” he marvels.

Dean laughs and picks up his glass, his cheeks still flushed red and eyes the brightest and greenest Castiel has ever seen them as he raises it in another toast.

“Let’s drink to that.”

*  *  *

In retrospect, Dean should have realised that Cas might not be as used to hard liquor as he had assumed. There was just something about the coat that made Castiel look like a detective from a 50s gangster movie, one that kicked ass and took names, drank whisky, smoked cigars and spoke with a heavy Bronx accent. 

But the thing was, in real life, Castiel could not be farther from that fantasy (and not just because of the adorable Bostonian lilt in his voice), seeing as he managed to get himself so hammered it becomes impossible for him to walk home without Dean almost carrying him.

When Dean finally gets the apartment door unlocked, Sam is already waiting for them in the hallway, hands on his hips and a pinched expression on his face.

“Sam! It’s so nice to see you here,” Cas exclaims as soon he spots him and attempts to stumble forward in order to hug Sam, which only results in Dean having to draw him closer so he doesn’t fall on his face.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

“You know I actually live here, Cas, right?”

Dean chuckles to himself and leans against the wall slightly, so he’s not carrying most of Cas’ weight anymore (bastard might look light, but he’s heavy as a sack of potatoes). 

“A little help here, Sammy?” 

They’re so close he can smell Castiel and it’s by no means  an unpleasant smell - it’s sort of lemony and spicy and earthy and makes him want to bury his face in it. Castiel’s hair is wet and ruffled, his nose is shiny from sweat and his lips are pink and soft, no doubt from having been kept properly hydrated by whisky the whole evening. 

“What the hell have you done to him?” Sam struggles not to laugh as he walks over to them and tugs at Castiel’s arm to help him stand.

Dean groans. “Dude’s such a lightweight. I had no idea, Sammy. It’s kind of funny when you think about it. .”

Sam finally does laugh, shaking his head. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t have work tomorrow. He’s gonna be so hungover he probably won’t be able to get out of bed. What in the everloving fuck were you guys drinking?”

“Whisky, Sammy,” Dean wobbles a little on his feet as Castiel starts sliding down his hip in his half-unconscious state, but manages to tighten his arm around his waist at the last second. “So at least he’s a classy drunk,” he adds, glancing down at Cas, whose eyes are closed, smiling at lord knows what, one of his hands hanging loosely at his side, the other now curled around Sam’s neck.

Sam rolls his eyes. “As if that matters. Let’s get him horizontal.”

Together they manage to drag Cas into his room, hoist him up on the bed, force some water down his throat and leave him to sleep it off. 

Before Dean walks out of the room, he makes sure to check on him one last time, feeling guilty about getting the guy so drunk he can’t even sleep in his pyjamas. At the same time, there is no way he is going to take his clothes off for him. Not even that damn coat, because he’s sure that if he has to spend any more time close to Castiel, he would have to seriously start taking into account some of the feelings he’s been having this evening and he _really_ doesn’t want to do that right now.

Castiel smacks his lips in his sleep and turns on his side, one of his arms hanging down from the bed, almost touching the carpeted floor. Dean smiles at the sight before finally leaving the room.

*

“Did you guys have fun at least?” 

Sam is still smiling, which is definitely a good sign, since normally he gets very irritated when Dean returns home late from Benny’s drunk. 

They’re sitting at the kitchen table, Dean sipping from a pint glass of water, Sam munching on a sandwich he has somehow managed to whip up in-between getting Cas into his room and feeding Gabriel live worms.

“Oh yeah. Cas met Benny. Crowley stopped by...” he says, trying to focus on remembering all parts of the evening correctly.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “And what did Cas think of Crowley? Must have been a sight to behold, two of the oddest ducks in Seattle in one bar.”

Dean chuckles to himself and takes another sip, trying to settle his upset stomach. At least the apartment’s not spinning anymore, which is always a good sign. It’s starting to dawn on Dean that given that _he_ considers himself very good at holding his liquor and _he_ isn’t feeling particularly dandy right now, there’s no wonder Castiel passed out. 

He’d feel way more guilty about it, if it hadn’t resulted in hilariously drunk Castiel, though.

“They actually knew each other, funnily enough. Cas’ sister works for Crowley. She’s his assistant, I think?” He tries to remember what exactly Cas told him about Hannah, but all he can recall is the way Cas’ pink lips moved around his vowels, making it quite difficult.

Sam’s eyes widen. “Wow, small world, right?” He then gives Dean a much softer look, one that’s already a warning sign if Dean recognises one. 

And sure enough.

“Did you and Cas have a good talk?”

“Jesus, Sammy, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I’m just being observant that’s all. You’ve been getting along pretty well around the apartment for the past two weeks.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, dude’s not a complete pig and he’s dorky enough to be endearing rather than obnoxious. I like him.”

“Ha, you said it! You _like him_ , I knew it!”

Dean sets the glass of water back on the table and rubs his eyes in annoyance.

“Fuck, I’m too drunk for this. What I _meant_ to say is that he’s a cool roommate. I think he’ll make a good friend once we get to know him better.”

Sam shakes his head, grinning.

“You can’t take it back now, I’ve seen into your soul! Have you invited him to the garage yet? I’m sure Castiel will appreciate seeing you in your coveralls.” Sam waggles his eyebrows and Dean feels his face going red for the millionth time tonight.

“So what if I _did_ invite him?” he splutters. “The poor SOB doesn’t even know how cars work! He said that, and I quote, ‘the magic was probably all in the round steering device’. It’s my duty to educate the guy. Plus it’s a great opportunity to show off my Baby.”

Sam laughs. “And to get Castiel into coveralls. I’m sure _you’ll_ appreciate getting him out of the suit for once.” He doesn’t forget to waggle his eyebrows.

Dean lets out a loud long-suffering sigh. Not that he’s not relieved about Sam taking the possibility of Dean potentially asking Cas on a date so well, considering the whole roommate situation, but does his brother really have to be so nosey? What are they teaching him in college? And why is it just him who has to be teased about his love life all the time, when Sam is the one currently _experiencing_ his _college experience_?

“Ok, _enough._ ” He’s about to bang his fist against the table when he remembers Castiel is sleeping, so he just ends up shaking it in the air, much to Sam’s amusement. 

“Let’s hear about your day now, _Sammy_. How was school?”

Now it’s Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.

“You know you don’t really want to hear about that, Dean. Everytime I try to tell you about my research you suddenly remember you have something better to do. Or get a headache or a stomach ache. Or you start singing _You Shook Me All Night Long_ really loudly until I shut up. _Cas_ knows more about my work than you do.”

Dean snorts. “Well you caught me in the right mood, I guess. Let’s hear it.” 

Anything is better than Sam grilling him on his feelings towards Cas. Or the lack-of-thereof, since there is no way in hell Dean is already developing any sort of feelings towards a weird _dude_ he met just two weeks ago, _goddammit_.

Sam sits up straighter in his chair. “Really? You really wanna know?”

Dean is starting to feel impatient. “ _Sam.”_

Dean smiles. “Wow, ok. So… I’ve tried telling you about the project for a while now. I’ve been working on it for two years. I’m doing research on pagan communities in Seattle and how they have ties back to the seventeenth century and the witch trials. And I feel like we’re really close to a break-through.”

Dean feels like he should say something enthusiastic and supportive right now. So he does his best:

“Yay?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, _yay_ , Dean. You might not be realizing this, but it’s a really big deal in the Cultural Anthropology field.”

Dean leans back in his chair. “Well, congratulations, baby bro, I knew you had it in that little bookwormish brain of yours!”

Sam laughs. “I’m glad I finally got to tell you about it, even if it took me pestering you about your big gay crush on our new roommate to get there.”

Dean sticks out his tongue at him, too tired to deny anything anymore. Maybe it’s time he faced his fears even if it will be extremely difficult with his father’s voice always resonating in his head. Maybe it’s time he tried to actually do what he wanted to do for now?

Sam keeps smiling.

“Actually, we’re doing this fancy dinner thing next week with my research group and some of the guys are bringing dates,” he admits. “I was hoping you’d come with?” He’s trying to sound casual but Dean can tell this is a big deal.

He bats his eyelashes at Sam.

“Why, Sammy-boy, I thought you’d never ask! But you’ll need to take me home before my pumpkin turns back into Pontiac Aztek and and all your friends will make fun of us.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Dean, this is really important to me. I’m actually thinking about inviting Castiel as well. He seemed really into my research. You think he’d come?”

Dean shrugs, genuinely unsure whether anything like a dinner with a bunch of college kids would be the guy’s scene. Then again, Dean can’t really imagine anything being Cas' scene, except, like, an accountant meeting. 

“I guess he would, as long as you talk about cars the whole time,” he muses, only partially joking. “Why don’t you bring a real date, though? Or is it that you can’t get one?” Dean asks and reaches across the table to pat his brother on the shoulder in sympathy. “Don’t be sad, dude, it’s not your fault your older and more attractive brother was clearly given the superior genes in this family.”

Sam gives him a dirty look, although it soon changes into a more nervous expression.

“It’s not that,” he explains. “It’s just that there is this person in my research group that I kind of like and if I took a date to the dinner, they might…”

“...think you’re taken already,” Dean nods. “Gotcha.”

Sam’s cheek are a little bit red when he nods as well. “Exactly.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “And you do realise I will tease you about this person mercilessly once I figure out who it is, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I am willing to take that risk, Dean. So will you and Castiel come?” There are those puppy eyes again - mom would be so proud.

“Can’t speak for Cas,” he shrugs, “but I’m ready to rock you nerds’ socks off with some serious witch talk.”

Sam laughs at that, although Dean knows there’s no way he’s so naive and not take Dean seriously. 

“Great. Just remember to put on something that’s _not_ flannel and you’ll be all set.”

Dean frowns. “Ok, I’ll wear a suit. But I draw the line at elbow patches.”

*  *  *

**Today in our weekly column, which is part of _National Muggle Awareness Month_ , we’ll learn more about the subtle nuances of Muggle life and some of the pleasures and pains that come along with it:**

_Dear Seattleites, today we will finally get to the nitty-gritty of life as a Muggle. So far I haven’t managed to uncover the biggest mystery of all - how cars work - but I have a feeling it’s all going to become a little clearer soon, so stay tuned! Instead, let me tell you about some other Muggle objects that have fascinated me in the past few days: rubber duckie - this seems to be something many Muggles use while they’re having a bath, but since we only have a shower in our apartment, I had to try to use it there. I held it in my hand the whole time I was washing, but nothing happened. Maybe I was using it wrong? (Please write in if you have any more ideas for possible uses of this object!*)_

_One of my favourite things to discover this week was that the younger of my roommates, SW, who studies something called Cultural Anthropology at the University of Washington, is actually doing research on magic in Seattle! I have not had the time to discuss it with him in depth yet, but I am sure it is going to be really entertaining. I know they are focusing on the Trials for one, which as we all know from our high school history classes has been covered up brilliantly by the Aurors back in the 17th century, which is why I am so keen to hear what they found out about them. I have been doing some research myself, though - on alcohol. Yes, there’s nothing wrong with your eyesight, I really did say alcohol. And I won’t torture you with details regarding this experiment, as some of you might get nauseated, but let me just tell you that Muggle alcohol sneaks up on you so hard and so fast you don’t even notice and suddenly you are so drunk two people have to carry you home. If DW could ever read these articles, this is where I would apologise (and also tell him off for letting me drink Muggle whisky). In closing, if you are ever going to try Muggle alcohol - drink responsibly._

_Castiel Novak_

_____________

_*the address of our offices is on the back cover_

* 

The next morning Castiel walks into the office with a heavy step. His head hurts, his eyes hurt, his throat is sore and his feet ache, because _apparition_ was out of the question this morning, which means he had to walk all the way to work. Needless to say he has a newfound appreciation for some aspects of Wizarding transportation. Then again, he wouldn’t have been able to vomit in a trash can on the way over if he had taken the Floo Network or Merlin forbid attempted to ride a broomstick to work. 

Samandriel is already waiting for him by the door wearing his bright red work robes, all perky and ready to start the day, which kind of makes Castiel want to Unforgivable Curse him.

“Hiya, boss, how was your evening? I see you had some fun,” Samandriel grins, completely oblivious to the death stares Castiel is shooting him. 

Perky people should not be allowed outside in the morning.

“I brought you coffee, boss, it’s Muggle, from that popular coffee shop down the street. I have to say I like their drinks very much.”

On the other hand, they could prove useful at times.

“Thank you, Samandriel.” Castiel grabs the cup and dives in, ignoring the hot temperature as he pours it down his throat, hoping it will burn off any lingering whisky residue. 

He gets his wand out and _alohomora_ s himself into his office, feeling even sicker at the prospect of having to go through all his notes and finalize the second column of his Muggle series without vomiting all over the scrolls. 

On the bright side, at least now he has something more to write about. _Muggle alcohol-induced hangover - the_ real _reason why the Wizarding community is thriving while the Muggle world has been on a downward spiral since after the Second Wizarding World._

He flings himself into the chair and has another drink of the coffee, noticing that Samandriel is still hovering around, that stupid, kind smile still plastered on his face.

“What is it, Samandriel?” Castiel growls and it takes all of his willpower not to send his assistant flying out the door. 

Samandriel’s face turns red before he approaches the table and nervously starts tidying it up, checking Castiel’s quills for sharpness and looking whether his ink pots are full and all in all behaving like he’s just lost his damn mind.

“Samandriel?” Castiel raises his eyebrows. He wishes he had the time to make the Hangover Potion right now, but sadly his potion skills leave a lot to be desired and he would probably wind up poisoning himself by accident, which is why he continues to suffer the unbearable pain instead.

“I just wanted to say thanks, boss,” Samandriel finally says, his big blue eyes earnest and admiring. “This series you’re writing means a lot to me and I know that it means a lot to others as well. Not just here in the office, but all over Seattle, you know.” 

Castiel looks up at him in surprise.

“I’m Muggle-born and that can sometimes suck in the Wizarding world, as you know,” Samandriel continues in a sheepish voice.

Castiel nods, sitting up a bit straighter in the chair. He’s not really sure how to react to this. It’s not as if he and Samandriel are friends - he’s always seen the boy as the most obnoxious intern on the planet, nothing less nothing more. Maybe he should start noticing him more.

“You should thank Naomi for that, Samandriel,” he muses, not unkindly. “She was the one who came up with National Muggle Awareness Month in the first place.”

“It’s all in the writing, sir,” Samandriel objects. “I just want you to know that we all appreciate it. I think it’s really important for Wizards like yourself who don’t know much about the Muggle way of living to see that it is just as valuable and valid as the Wizard way.”

“I’m glad I can help a little.” 

Castiel fidgets in his seat, suddenly unsure about what to do with his hands or where to look. He’s not used to receiving compliments, not even from interns. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s not making him very comfortable either. 

He decides to share a little bit more with Samandriel.

“I have to say I wasn’t sure whether I’d like this assignment when I first got it,” he admits, leaning forward on his elbows. “But it’s been two weeks and the experience has already been the most humbling thing I’ve ever done.”

Samandriel beams so hard his whole face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“That’s awesome, boss! Oh and by the way, you have a meeting in ten minutes,” he adds, peeking at Castiel’s planner. 

Castiel blinks in shock, his grumpy mood coming back full-force.

“What the hell, Samandriel?” he groans, rubbing his eyes furiously. “I mean, I appreciate you appreciating my writing, but don’t you think you should have lead with that?” 

Castiel doesn’t want to be harsh, especially not after what Samandriel has just told him, but _seriously_?

“I’m sorry boss. It’s just Uriel, though, so I thought I would tell you as late as possible not to completely spoil your day.”

And Castiel has to laugh at that, even through his temples are pulsating with pain as he does so. “Ok, that’s… actually acceptable.”

Samandriel beams.

“I knew you’d be happy. Also, good luck with your roommate, sir,” he winks before gathering couple of scrolls from Castiel’s desk and exiting the room.

Castiel frowns. What the hell is it with everyone? He’s almost completely sure he didn’t write about the Winchesters in any way that would indicate any sort of feelings he might have for Dean. He can cope with his nosey sister and Crowley reading too much into things, but now his coworkers as well? Could they all be right? Was he subconsciously turning his articles into love letters without noticing? He’s a journalist. He does not fall for the subject of his writing, dammit. Or does he?

Or better yet, could he?

Castiel groans, laying his head down on the cool surface of the desk. He can’t keep denying how happy Dean’s company makes him anymore. After only one week of living together they have adapted to each other so well that they are like a well-oiled machine by now. He can’t help but want to be around Dean more. To talk to him. To stare at the freckles on his nose. To watch him cook.

It’s all a big mess, isn’t it. Oh Merlin, he definitely needs to talk to Hannah more over coffee as soon as possible. Castiel is sure everything would feel a bit clearer if he wasn’t so hungover, but that’s what he has to deal with right now. He tries to recall the events of last night, but all he can remember after Crowley left him at the bar is just the dark colour of Dean’s full lips and the taste of whisky. He also knows that the brothers must have tucked him into bed and forced him to drink some water, because his mouth wasn’t dry as a desert when he woke up this morning. Then there’s also this hazy image of Dean checking on him before leaving his room, his hair almost golden in the stream of light coming into his bedroom from the kitchen. 

The thought of Dean making sure he was ok stirs something in him..

He’s just about done with his coffee, the headache slowly but surely subsiding, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

“Come in,” he gruffs, bracing himself for another bountiful meeting with Uriel, no doubt filled with eyerolls and raised voices.

Uriel comes in wearing the black robes Castiel recalls him wearing to Naomi’s wedding. His face is stony and serious... and he’s not alone. There’s a Witch trailing after him, dressed in a plum-colored Auror’s robe. She’s young with long flowy hair and her round brown eyes are studying everything with healthy curiosity. She’s also smiling, so Castiel assumes she’s probably not an asshole, which is quite the relief seeing as one asshole per room is about as much as Castiel can bear today.

“Uriel,” Castiel says, standing up to greet him with one quick shake of the hand. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Uriel gestures towards the Auror. “This is Auror Harvelle with the AIA. I’m showing her around the office as per Naomi’s request. Ma’am, this is Castiel Novak, one of our reporters. He’s currently working on a series of articles about the Muggle way of living and the Muggle perspective.”

Castiel blinks, shaking the Auror’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Auror Harvelle. Why are we meeting again?” He looks over at Uriel, squinting in confusion. 

“Auror Harvelle is one of the agents making sure that magic stays secret in Seattle. She’s something of an expert, you might say,” Uriel explains.

“ _Special_ agent, actually” the Auror corrects him with a wink. “And it’s so nice to meet you, Mr Novak. I’ve read the first two installments of your series and I liked them a lot.”

“Um, thanks?” Castiel returns the smile, still extremely confused about the whole situation.

Uriel speaks up again, the cold and clipped tone of his voice suggesting he’s extremely uncomfortable in the young Auror’s company, probably because it’s a woman with way more power than he could ever dream of, which pleases Castiel immensely.

“I was thinking that since Auror Harvelle is here today to observe our work, you might want to interview her for your series, Castiel. She’s one of the few Witches in Seattle who are responsible for the confidentiality and concealment of magic, which means she has to work closely with Muggles every day.”

“One of the few _Wizards_ and Witches,” Auror Harvelle corrects him again, taking no shit from Uriel, the sweet smile never leaving her face. (Castiel is starting to really like this woman.) “There’s only a small group of us here is Seattle. The top three of the Auror training class, actually. I would love to share some of the aspects of my job with you, Mr Novak.” 

“Oh,” Castiel perks up. It doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, which is weird, seeing as Uriel is the one who came up with it.

“We could just have a little chat, no big interview?” Auror Harvelle suggests, looking at the empty cup on Castiel’s desk. “Maybe over more coffee? I understand your articles are more of a personal nature and that talking about federal security is probably going to bore everyone to tears, but I would love to discuss your opinions regarding Muggle Seattle.”

Castiel nods. “You had me at more coffee.”

*  *  *

It’s almost time for Cas to turn up at the garage and Dean is trying not to get too flustered as he wipes his hand on his coveralls, suddenly remembering what Sam said last night about this exact outfit. He realises it’s silly, but now he can’t stop thinking about what Castiel might think when he sees him wearing it, _damn his annoying brother_. 

Dean knows he’s attractive, objectively speaking, but when it comes to figuring out whether _Cas_ finds him attractive, he’s honestly lost. And no, long stares and broad smiles under the influence of Benny’s whisky definitely do not count.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean almost drops the wrench at the familiar raspy sound of Castiel’s voice.

“Jesus, Cas, wear a bell or somethin’, would you?” He laughs, turning around. He almost laughs again when he notices Castiel is wearing his accountant suit with the tan coat _yet again_. (He’s really starting to think Castiel has several of these. Well that, or he’s been wearing the same outfit for the past two weeks, which, _ew_ , and Dean knows that’s not true, because he got a good whiff of the guy last night when he was dragging him home, his head jammed into Castiel’s armpit, and he smelled just fine.)

“Apologies. I believe I’m a very quiet walker,” Castiel smiles, although it’s a bit of a pained smile - something’s not quite right with him today, Dean notes. 

“You ok, Cas? You looking a bit peeky.”

Castiel nods, his hand coming up to brush against his stomach. “I’m afraid I’m having a very bad reaction to last night’s festivities,” he admits. “Your whisky didn’t sit very well with me.”

Dean rolls his eyes and crosses the garage floor to dig in his backpack, fishing out a box of Ibuprofen. He throws it at Castiel, who catches it easily and starts studying the lettering on the outside curiously.

“It’s just Ibuprofen,” Dean chuckles. “It’ll help with the hangover.” Then a bit more sheepishly: “I made you an anti-hangover breakfast this morning, but you somehow managed to sneak out of the apartment before I had a chance to get it to you.”

Castiel blinks at him in surprise, his cheeks coloring and seriously, Dean could just k--- _dammit_ he needs to stop with these fantasies right about now, before he freaks Castiel out and he and Sam will have to put up ads for a new roommate (after he strangles Dean in his sleep, of course).

“You made me breakfast?” Castiel’s mouth is still open in shock, but Dean can see he’s pleased. “That’s very nice of you. I’m sorry I never got to eat it. I had to go take care of something in the office.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. Sammy ate the whole thing and asked for more, it’s not like I was wasting food, if you don’t count feeding Gigantor a waste. Take the pill, Cas,” he urges, unable to look at Cas' green face any longer. “I promise it will help.”

Castiel opens the box and takes one of the little pink pills out of the sheet, popping it between his pink lips. 

He grimaces at the taste as he munches on the nub.

“Is this really gonna help?”.

Dean laughs. “Well for starters, you’re not supposed to chew that, it’s meant to be swallowed.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Castiel grimaces again, but manages to swallow what remains of the pill. “This is really gross,” he growls. “I’m never drinking again.”

Dean snickers. “Yeah, Columbo, we’ll see about that. Now to the main event,” he rubs his hands, gesturing towards the Impala parked in the corner of the garage. “This is Baby. Chevy Impala 1967. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he adds, his voice full of pride.

He took the time and prepared the car for inspection before Castiel got here and he’s really excited about it, not quite sure whether it’s Castiel’s genuine enthusiasm for motor vehicles or the opportunity to show off his car. His heart is pumping in his chest like crazy as he watches Castiel walk over to Baby.

Castiel awkwardly puts his hand on the Impala’s hood, feeling its solid lines under the pads of his fingers… and it’s an endearing sight. It’s almost as if Baby were a horse or some kind of wild animal and Castiel was trying to convince her that he wasn’t going to harm her.

“She’s gorgeous, Dean.” He peers inside through the window, silently admiring the interior and Dean could almost swear he can hear him mumble something about ‘incredible machines’ and ‘better than magic’.

“Is it a very good car?”

Dean snorts. “The best. Although something’s been bothering her lately, which is why she’s here. And why you” he points at Castiel and Castiel instantly squares up his shoulders in response, “are going to help me find out what’s wrong.”

He manages to get Castiel into a pair of coveralls, much to his delight (although he’s hoping Sam will never find out, because he’d never hear the end of it) and he looks like a complete fish out of the water in them, which makes the whole experience that much more enjoyable for Dean. 

The Ibuprofen Dean slipped him has apparently finally kicked in, though, since Castiel no longer looks like he’s about to hurl, his expression alert and focused as Dean lectures him on Baby’s consumption per mile, something Dean guesses only comes with being an accountant.

It doesn’t take them very long to find out what’s bothering the car, but Dean takes his time checking her over anyway, explaining each part of the vehicle to Cas as they go over it. Castiel is obviously enjoying himself, even though he’s somehow managed to get grease on his nose (much like he does with ink almost every day) and his hair has become even messier than usual after Dean has forced him to crawl under the car to take a look at the undercarriage.

“Have we now successfully healed the car, Dean?” 

Castiel asks after they’re done and they’re sat down on the garage floor, eating awful vending machine sandwiches. 

“You could say that, Cas,” Dean muses, balling up the wrapper and throwing it into the trashcan. “Baby wasn’t really ill, though, it was just a little hickup. Entirely my fault,” he admits with a guilty smile. “It’s been too long since I had the time to take a really good look at her.”

Castiel squints his eyes. 

“Are cars similar to humans when it comes to being sick?” he wonders. “I mean,” he corrects himself quickly when he notices Dean’s raised eyebrows, “philosophically speaking, of course.”

Dean snorts. “Cas I know I gave you that pill myself, but it wasn’t that sort of  drug, you know?”

Castiel frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “It just seems to me that cars are a lot like people. You can’t just miraculously fix whatever is wrong. You actually have to pay attention, give them check-ups.” 

Dean nods. “Well, _yeah_ , Cas, that’s how life works. Nothing gets fixed just by waving a magic wand over it,” he chuckles and then blinks in confusion when Castiel makes a choked noise at his words and then Castiel starts laughing, his whole face brightening and it’s really a sight to behold, because when Castiel laughs, he laughs with his whole body.

“What’s so funny?” Dean demands. 

Castiel shakes his head and raises his hand to wipe at his face, because he actually teared up a little from all the laughter. Incredible. 

“Nothing,” he says. “I just really like you.”

Dean feels like a surge of electricity just ran through his body and before he can register what he’s actually doing, he’s reaching for Cas’ face with both of his hands and drawing him closer to capture his lips in a soft kiss.

Castiel kisses like he’s asking questions - fast and urgent, his mouth moving against Dean’s with an ease. Dean lets himself get lost in the kiss, stroking Castiel’s temples with the pads of his fingers while Castiel’s arms wrap around his back and draw him in so close Dean nearly topples down from his chair. And it’s good, _so freakin’ good_. 

When they finally let go of each other with one last quick peck, Castiel is still staring at him like he’s trying to figure him out.

“Ok,” he finally quips, his expression relaxing. There’s a blush spreading across his cheeks now, which is definitely a nice alternative to the greenish color he was sporting earlier today.

Dean can hear his own heart pulsing in his ears.

“Ok?” he mumbles, eyes going back to Castiel’s lips and hell, he knows already that it’s going to be damn hard not to kiss those lips, like, all the damn time.

“Yeah,” Castiel nods, his hand coming up to tangle in the fabric of Dean’s coveralls, drawing him back in. 

*  *  *

“I feel like I may have screwed up,” Castiel admits, running his hands over his face.

They’re back at The Floating Bar, although Castiel is definitely not having alcohol this time, his stomach still sensitive from his outing with Dean. Hannah is smiling at him like the Seattle Shrakes just won the Quodpot league, which makes everything twice as unbearable.

It’s definitely a stark contrast to his meeting with Auror Harvelle though, which actually went even better than he could ever have imagined. Auror Harvelle, or Jo, as she instructed Castiel to call her, turned out to be a really big Muggle enthusiast and was quite annoyed that it was Uriel _of all people_ showing her around _The_ _Sorcerer_ offices (Castiel sympathised with this sentiment). She also told him a little about the fieldwork she was currently doing for the AIA at the University of Washington, although she couldn’t reveal much about that, sadly. All in all, It was so nice to talk to someone who was interested in the question of concealment and of magic as much as Castiel was starting to be, especially because it made him forget about his own situation with Dean for a while. 

Right now though, sitting here with Hannah and looking at her beaming face, he would have to face reality. And he really, _really_ didn’t want to do that.

“I’m gonna have to go to Naomi and tell her to cancel the rest of the articles,” Castiel moans, his voice almost cracking at the end.

“No, you don’t, Castiel.” Hannah rolls her eyes. “You are doing so well, little brother, I’m so proud of you. My baby brother is all big and falling in love with Muggles, _it’s almost perfect_. I can’t wait to see the look on father’s face when he finds out.” Hannah’s eyes are sparkling with excitement. Sometimes Castiel forgets how mischievous his older sister can be. 

He bangs his head against the table.

“Why do I ever tell you anything?”

Hannah laughs, taking a sip of her cocktail. “Because I’m your only friend and all your other sisters live in Boston? Come on,” she snorts loudly, making several people in the bar turn their heads towards them. 

Castiel wants to crawl under the table and die. 

“I’m your biggest sister, I practically raised you, so I get to know all the dirt regarding your love life. It’s the law,” she adds seriously, immediately ruining the effect by taking the umbrella from her drink and putting it behind Castiel’s ear.

“There’s no dirt, Hannah,” Castiel huffs in annoyance, shaking the umbrella off. “Everything is great with Dean. He’s wonderful. I’m just worried it’s going to interfere with my article,” he admits, heart sinking as the reality of what he just said catches up with him. “Or worse, that Uriel or Naomi will find out.”

Hannah shakes her head. “That’s nonsense, Castiel. I mean they’re a journalists. They know that love and sex sell the best. If nothing else, your little romance with your hot Muggle roommate would make your article even more interesting. Mark my words.”

Castiel grimaces. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I don’t want. People like you and Crowley getting off on my articles. I hope you thanked him for almost blowing my cover in front of Dean the other night, by the way.”

Now it’s Hannah’s turn to roll her eyes.

“He’s not going to do anything to blow your cover. Crowley loves his job way too much to risk having his own memory erased. It’s you who’ll need to be more careful. Merlin knows what you could blurt out during sex with Dean,” she giggles and ok, Castiel’s big sister is officially drunk.

“Shut up, it’s not even like that,” Castiel sputters, fiddling with his glass of water. And it’s really _not_ , because even though their first kiss at the garage had been amazing and all Castiel has been able to think about, they’re both taking things slow by some sort of mutual silent agreement. And he prefers it that way.

“Oh it is _exactly_ like that, little brother,” Hannah smiles, “and that’s ok, you know. I’m really happy you’ve finally found someone,” she winks. “And not just because I’ve had three of these.”

Castiel fidgets in his chair. “I know. It’s still making me uncomfortable, though.”

It’s been about a week since he and Dean kissed in Dean’s garage and not that much has changed regarding their usual dynamics, really. 

Castiel still spends copious amount of time holed up in his room catching up on paperwork and editing, he still _apparates_ to his office every morning to work on his articles without anyone in the apartment noticing; they still have dinner together, which Dean cooks, Castiel still watches Dean cook while Sam plays video games in the living room… 

The difference, though… Castiel is fairly certain there’s more to relationships than just this. More than  Dean coming to his room while he’s working sometimes and bringing him a cup of tea or a sandwich and kissing him on the cheek before he leaves again, letting him chop vegetables or mix things while they cook, pressing chaste kisses on his lips as they move around the small kitchen. Every day they make out shamelessly after they’ve brushed their teeth, and every day they part for the night immediately afterwards, each into his own room.

Which is not to say that’s not nice, it’s great, actually. Castiel couldn’t be happier, he really couldn’t. But there’s still that tiny detail that spoils the whole thing. The detail that he’s lying to Dean about who he really is. The detail that he’s practically using Dean to write a stupid article series. The detail that he’s moving back to his own apartment at the end of the month. 

That’s why he _cannot_ let what he and Dean have go any deeper, even though that’s where it’s clearly heading on Dean’s part, which frustrates him to no end, seeing as every touch and kiss sends Castiel’s heart into frenzy and lights a fire in his stomach. 

And it is so frustrating when everything kind of sucks even though everything is so wonderful.

“What am I gonna do, Hannah?” he looks at his sister in desperation, willing her to come up with some magical solution. 

Hannah takes another sip of her cocktail and reaches across the table to pat his hand.

“Well for starters, tell me about that first kiss again.”

Castiel sighs.

*  *  *

Dean can’t stop humming as he’s buttoning up his shirt. It's a bit strange, feeling so happy all of the sudden, when just several weeks ago he was alone and had no idea how they were going to afford next month’s rent. It's an incredibly cheesy and totally un-Dean thing to think, but he actually feels like he needs to pinch himself just to make sure all of this has been for real. 

Dean just wishes he had more opportunities to be alone with Cas, so they could talk and explore where this thing can go. And also so he can kiss his stupid face and put his hands up his shirt, of course. Mostly Dean just wants to know everything there is about Castiel Novak. It’s like this need, this _urge_ to know _more_ , like there’s still something about him that Dean is not quite getting yet. And that’s a half-thrilling, half-scary thought.

He just about to put on a tie when there’s a knock on his door. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says with warmth, twisting around to find out that Castiel has for some reason stripped down to just his pants. And Dean isn’t complaining one bit, oh no, but they need to be leaving way too soon for Castiel to be strutting around the apartment half-naked and making him all excited.

“Dean, I have no idea what to wear for this occasion,” Castiel admits in a defeated voice and Dean is caught between wanting to laugh at him and wanting to come closer and brush his hand across his chest.

He settles on chuckling and turning back around, maintaining eye contact in the mirror as he fiddles with his tie.

“You’re not gonna believe it, Cas, but this is actually a great opportunity to wear a suit.”

Castiel frowns. “But I always wear a suit, Dean. Should I maybe wear a different colour tonight? Or maybe shorter pants?” he looks down at his pants self-consciously, pulling at the loose fabric around his thighs. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Alright, Tim Gun, stop worrying for a second and come help me do my tie.” 

“You know I can’t actually tie one of those, right? I’m afraid you’re on your own.” 

Castiel comes over to him anyway, though, reaching up to gently touch his neck, before he drops a gentle kiss on the side of it. Dean closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the closeness and the feel of Cas’ cool breath on his skin.

“Are you excited about tonight?” Castiel asks, letting go of Dean’s neck and moving over to sit on Sam’s bed instead, looking like a topless waiter who’s just come home from a night of working tables. (Dean is kind of digging it, even if Cas would definitely make a very strange topless waiter.)

“I’m really proud of Sam,” he smiles. “He’s really stoked about this research they’re doing. He said they’re really close to finding something big. Not that I’m interested in paganism or anything. Devil worship is something that should stay in heavy metal music, if you ask me.”

Castiel nods, his brow furrowed. “I’m honored he asked me to be there as well. I’m not really sure it’s my place, though...”

When Dean finally manages to make a decent knot on his tie, he tucks it into his waistcoat and turns around, giving Castiel a hard look.

“Cas, we’ve been through this, you _gotta_ be there, man. It would mean the world to Sam - you know he really likes you, right? And it would mean a lot to me as well if you were there. You know... _with me._ ” Dean clears his throat, feeling himself flush to the roots of his hair.

Luckily Castiel is still looking too preoccupied with his outfit and the question of whether he’ll even be welcome at the dinner to offer any comment on Dean’s clumsy proclamation of his feelings. Also, it’s not like he’s been any better at the romance thing, unless Dean considers having no brain-to-mouth filter romantic (last night when Dean came home from work Castiel announced to him that he was going to, quote: ‘kiss him passionately’ and then proceeded to do so against the coat rack in the hallway, then he wiped his mouth, thanked Dean for his cooperation and returned to his room like nothing had just happened. Dean still has a dent on the back of his neck to prove that it did, though).

The queasy feeling in his gut intensifies as Dean slowly realises Sam’s dinner will be the first time he and Cas go out together ever since their first not-so-public date at the garage. They will inevitably be asked questions about their relationship and honestly, Dean has no idea what he should say. He’s definitely not ready to have a conversation with Castiel about it, that’s for sure, because while he’s quite certain he knows what that fuzzy feeling in his chest when he looks at Castiel is, he is not that sure he wants to put it into words just yet. He’s simply not ready. For any of it.

The thing is, is Castiel going to be mad when he refuses to take his hand on the street? Is he going to be hurt when Dean won’t want to kiss him in front of Sam’s friends?

He looks over at Castiel, who glances back at him, frustration building up in his eyes. “Is there any chance I could just wear my usual suit tonight, Dean?”

And Dean laughs, feeling some the tension in his shoulders slowly go away.

“I wouldn’t take you any other way.”

They take a taxi to the restaurant and Dean can’t stop his brain from going at a thousand miles an hour as they pull away from their apartment building, his whole body thrumming with nerves. Luckily, the ride is long enough for Dean to at least try to calm himself down by studying Castiel’s face - or the side of it, to be more exact, since Cas has been staring out of the window from the start without moving as much as a muscle.

“You doing ok there, Cas?” Dean chuckles, gently touching his shoulder. Castiel’s head whips around to face him - and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“This is amazing, Dean,” he states, turning back around immediately and putting his face so close to the glass his nose almost ends up squashed against it. “I had no idea cars could go this fast. Incredible.”

Dean laughs.

“Are you sure you hadn’t been living under a rock before you moved in with us?” He means it to be a joke, but when Cas turns around again, his expression is dead serious.

“Sometimes it feels that way,” he nods, his eyes suddenly turning sad.

Dean’s heart starts hammering inside his chest so hard he has to look away to regain his composure. He kind of wants to reach out, draw Castiel into his lap and smother him with kisses for being such an adorable weirdo, but he can see the cabbie watching them in the rear-view mirror.

It is so difficult not to stop in these moments and think of what dad would think. What he would say if he saw him with Castiel. Dean knows he definitely wouldn’t be happy, having made his attitude towards ‘that sort of thing’ clear very early on in Dean’s teens, just as Dean started to realise some boys could get his heart going just as wild as girls. He decided to stop it right then and there, desperate to make his dad like him more and he hasn’t embraced that side until he and Sam moved to Seattle. 

Dean is ok with kissing men now, of course. It’s just that doing it in public still makes him feel all shaky and nauseated. Which is not a good thing, obviously, seeing as he’s falling in love with one.

Dean’s nervousness only intensifies when they finally reach their destination. When they pay the cabbie and get out of the car, he can see that most of Sam’s group, including Sam, are already standing in front of Chaudron Baveur, waving them over.

“Dean!” Sam beams, his face giddy with excitement. “Hey, everyone, this is my brother Dean Winchester and our roommate, Castiel Novak.”

“Hey, college kids,” Dean grins, determined to push whatever is bothering him at the moment to the side and let his brother have the spotlight that he deserves tonight.

“Hello,” Castiel grunts next to him.

“I’m so glad you guys are here,” Sam grins, patting Castiel on the back. “These are my colleagues - “Kevin, Garth, Ash, and Jo…” Dean feels Castiel flinch next to him as Sam points at each person in turn, introducing his co-worker’s dates, but decides not to read too much into it, too focused on trying to figure out which one of the present people is Sam’s crush. 

“We’re still missing Jess,” Sam’s brow furrows as he looks at his phone to check the time 

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” one of the college kids, Kevin, says, rolling his eyes. “She always takes ages with her hair.”

Chaudron Baveur turns out to be really nice and less fancy than Dean feared it would be, considering it’s a French restaurant. It’s an open and airy space with long massive wood tables and white painted walls, which give the place an airy feel. Dean really likes it (and hopes their menu isn’t all just snails and frogs).

They settle down, Sam holding out a chair for Jo, his face flushing a little as her long wavy hair brush against his hands. And yep, Dean is about ninety-nine percent sure he now knows who the person he’s about to tease Sam mercilessly about for the rest of the evening is.

“Should we wait for Jessica before we order?” Garth wonders.

Sam shrugs. “Let’s at least order some drinks, I just texted her, hopefully she’s on her way.”

Dean turns to smile at Cas, who is studying his menu with a deep frown.

“Anything the matter?” Dean chuckles. “Is the menu in French or something?” 

Cas lifts his head, his eyes full of confusion like he hasn’t even heard what Dean just said. 

“Pardon? No, sorry,” he huffs, “I’m just trying to pick what I’m gonna drink. It’s definitely not going to be scotch,” he adds with a mischievous glint in his eye, which disappears just as fast as it comes. 

Dean snorts. “Well, I’m having beer. The advantage of not driving is that I get to kick back and relax a little,” he comments. “It would be better if it weren’t in a fancy restaurant, granted...” he adds.

Cas shakes his head. “I’m still having nasty flashbacks to vomiting all over the bathroom in my office after drinking that scotch with you, _sorry Sam_ ,” he apologises in Sam’s direction.

“That’s fine, man, you can toast with an orange juice for all I care,” Sam grins back at him and gestures for the waiter to come to their table so they can order.

The whole time they’re waiting for their drinks to arrive, Dean can feel Castiel’s foot jerking nervously under the table. Is it that he’s nervous about the two of them as well or is there something else bothering him? Dean wishes he could read the man’s thoughts for once, even though he knows that what he’d see would probably freak him out. The truth is, he’s really jittery himself, flinching every time Cas leans against him for support and trying to mask it by reaching for the pitcher of water across the table and pouring himself another glass.

As the evening progresses and they order food, tucking into it with great appetite (deciding not to wait for the late arrival), Dean is not feeling any better about the PDA. Cas tries repeatedly to get closer to him and he always reaches for more water even though he can tell that the other man is starting to look suspicious and frustrated.

It gets to a point where others start noticing it enough to comment on it in the middle of their heated discussion about Salem Witch Trials.

“Staying hydrated, I see,” Garth nods at Dean. “Just don’t overdo it, man, it’s not good for the kidneys. Believe me, been there.”

Dean blinks at him like a deer caught in a spotlight. “Um, yeah,” he says, mentally kicking himself for sounding so nervous. He’s also starting to sweat under his jacket and on the top of all of it, he’s starting to need to pee really badly from all the water he’s drunk.

He finally excuses himself and literally runs to the restroom when they’ve all finished their food and half the group has wandered off somewhere (namely, Sam and Jo, which Dean finds both hilarious and sad, because they probably thought they were being so subtle, and he wishes he could be so unsubtle about Castiel). After he relieves himself, he walks over to the sinks, looking at himself in the mirror as he washes his hands.

“What the hell are you doing, Dean?” he asks out loud, glowering at his own reflection. 

He makes the decision then that when he walks back into the restaurant, he will sit next to Cas, kiss him on the cheek and hold his hand to help with with whatever has been bothering him all evening, because that’s what he _really_ wants to do, voices in his head be damned. 

Apparently, today is not going to be the day, though.

Dean can immediately tell something has happened when he gets back to the table by the way Garth is completely white in the face and Kevin is just sitting in his chair staring out of the window, not touching his drink or anything else on the table. Dean looks around for Sam, but he’s nowhere to be seen and neither is Jo. 

Panic rises in his chest and all kinds of crazy scenarios start popping up in his head, because everyone  looks like somebody has just been murdered, including Castiel, who seems quite shocked but alert, hovering by the restaurant door, looking out through the glass with his coat bunched up in his hands like a lifeline.

“What the hell happened?” Dean demands, his heart picking up speed. He walks over to Cas and gently but insistently rubs his shoulder. 

“Cas?”

Castiel turns around, his face ashen. 

“I’m not quite sure, but I think I heard Jo and Sam say that Jessica is dead.”

Dean blinks back at him in surprise. “Come again?”

Fortunately, that’s when Sam finally comes back inside, his face green and his eyes red-rimmed like he’s just stopped crying.

“Dean...” 

He moves towards him and Dean quickly envelops him in a hug.

“What happened, Sammy?” he asks as gently as he can, feeling Sam’s wide back tense under his palms.

“Jessica was murdered, apparently,” he mumbles into his hair in a broken voice. “I can’t believe it, Dean. I talked to her last night and she was fine.” He lets go of Dean and runs his hand through his hair. “Ugh, Jo is just talking to the police. I think they’re going to be talking to the rest of the group. I don’t…” he pauses, undoubtedly feeling like his voice is about to break and taking a deep breath, “I think you and Cas should go home, Dean.”

Dean nods dumbly, not really sure what he can do at the moment short of hold Sam some more and tell him he’s sorry. 

“You talked to them yet?” he asks and Sam jerks his head in positive. “They said she was found in her dorm this afternoon. They’re quite sure she was killed. They won’t tell us more, saying it’s a murder investigation and stuff…” Sam’s voice trails off.

Dean grips his arm. “I think you need to go home as well, Sammy. It looks like they’ve got it under control. There is nothing else you can do, ok?”

Sam frowns, but doesn’t look like he’s going to oppose him too hard.

“That would be good, I think. Kevin and Garth should be fine, but what about Jo?” he asks, obviously torn. They look through the window where they can just about make out a police car and Jo’s bright red coat in the quickly fading light. “She and Jess were close friends,” he adds, “she’s probably devastated. You know I really care about her, Dean.”

Dean feels torn, really wanting to get his brother home and away from this mess, his heart aching at the sight of his face so ashy and broken. On the other hand, he understands where Sam is coming from. If he were in his position, he definitely wouldn’t want to leave Cas behind like this.

Surprisingly, it’s Castiel who speaks up again, putting his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“I will take care of Jo,” he says in a determined voice. “Let Dean take you home, please. There’s nothing you can do.”

Dean tosses Castiel a grateful look.

“That would mean a lot,” Sam manages to say, his voice getting all raspy as he’s resisting the urge to cry again.

Castiel only nods in recognition. “It’s no trouble at all, Sam, I assure you.”

“Thank you, Cas,” Dean mumbles and then he remembers his pep talk in the bathroom and  quickly  draws the man close, giving him a soft peck on the lips. “Come home soon?”

Castiel nods. “I’ll do my best.” 

In the taxi on their way back home, Dean can’t help but reflect on how different it is from the ride to the restaurant. On the way there, he was buzzing with nerves, scared to take Castiel’s hand or even look at him for too long, afraid that the cabbie might say something. Now, however, with his little brother practically lying on top of him and sobbing into his shoulder, he wishes Cas was here, as close to him as possible, all cabbies and rear-view mirrors be damned. 

What he really yearns to do when he sees Castiel next time is to show him just _how much_ this kind of closeness means to him.

He just hopes his behaviour today hasn’t fucked everything up beyond repair.

*  *  *

After Sam and Dean ride away in the taxi, Castiel immediately feels a lot of the tension that’s been building up under his skin fall off his shoulders. He gets his wand out of his sleeve, a little thrill running down his spine as he grips it in his hand, feeling his powers course through his veins. 

There’s nothing as uncomfortable for a Wizard as not being able to have his wand at the ready in situations like this. 

The whole evening has just been one blow after another. Despite the fact that the ride here was incredible (Castiel’s first time in a car - so _so_ exciting), Dean’s been behaving really strangely the whole way - fidgety and withdrawn - as if he couldn’t quite settle down. Like something was the matter. This of course became worse once they joined the rest of the group, which puzzled Castiel even further. 

It’s not like Sam doesn’t know about their relationship. He does know and he lets them know just _how much_ he loves it every time he catches them in a moment when they’re at home by making obnoxious kissy sounds and taking their pictures with his smart box device. Why was Dean so jittery today, then? 

Maybe there’s something wrong with Castiel? Maybe Muggles aren’t traditionally affectionate in public? Maybe it has something to do what Dean told Castiel all those weeks ago at Benny’s. Maybe he’s scared of being with Castiel because he’s a man? (Which is kind of ironic really, because that’s by far not even the craziest thing about their coupling.) 

Another blow, of course, was finding out that Auror Jo was a part of Sam’s research group. The fact that Castiel hasn’t found an opportunity to talk to her all evening before she got the news about their friend Jessica annoys Castiel a lot. He’s also feeling a little betrayed. Did Jo know about his relationship with Sam the whole time or is this all just a one big coincidence? 

He looks down at the crumbled piece of parchment in his hand delivered to him by a brown strix just moments ago and grips his wand even tighter in his hand as he mentally prepares for _apparition_.

* 

He pops up at the address Jo has specified in her letter and if he wasn’t already pretty sure where it would lead him before he _apparated_ here, he gets his confirmation: St. Louis residents halls.

“Did you know that the Winchesters were my roommates?” Castiel asks as soon as he walks into Jessica’s room, like that’s the most important thing right now, considering there is a dead girl lying on the floor.

Jo looks up at him.

“Castiel! You came.” Her expression turns guilty when she sees Castiel’s scowl. “Ugh, _yes, I did know_. That’s why I was so interested in getting to know you better when I came down to your office the other day,” she admits. “I’m sorry, ok? In my defence, I _didn’t_ know Dean was going to bring you tonight. We should have never met without you knowing about this.”

Castiel squints at her. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand all your motivations, but all right. Are you and Sam in a relationship, though?” 

Jo shrugs, her cheeks flushing under his stare. “It’s kind of complicated, obviously. But, uh, yes, I guess you could say that.” She then adds with a blush: “I’m probably going to get into a lot of trouble for it.” 

Castiel nods and looks down at Jessica’s body again, reminding himself that there are way more pressing matters at hand right now than Sam’s love life. 

“I realise you probably aren’t allowed to tell me much, but do you think Jessica has been killed by magic?” Castiel’s brow furrows.

Jo pulls up the sleeves of her Auror robes before squatting down, and lifts the sheet covering the young girl.

“You can _ask questions_ , Castiel, it’s why I owled you. I trust you, you don’t see like the kind of journalist who would jump at a scoop at the expense of federal investigation. Plus, I believe like you might be useful for this case,” she admits.

“I don’t know how that could possibly be true, but I’ll do my best,” Castiel shrugs. 

Jo quirks an eyebrow at him. “I mean, for one... you didn’t even flinch when you saw the body.”

“That’s not me being helpful, that’s just the unfortunate result of having seen too many dead bodies during the war.”

Jo frowns. “Weren’t you a bit too young to fight in the war? The Battle of Hogwarts was like ten years ago .”

“I was nineteen, actually,” Castiel grimaces, not really fond of bringing back the memories - especially not when there’s a _dead girl lying on the floor here_. “More than old enough to join the army and be apparated out to Britain. I was more surprised than anyone,” he chuckles when he sees Jo’s expression harden. “The last thing I was expecting from my parents was for them to send me to fight for Muggles, believe me.” 

“That’s…” Jo trails off. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’ve seen a lot of nasty things during my time in the AIA, but fighting in a war is something I can’t even begin to imagine, obviously.”

“Do you have any ideas regarding the cause of death?” Castiel asks, beginning to feel really uncomfortable with this train of thought. He looks at Jessica again. There are no signs of blood or visible struggle, which only confirms his suspicion that she was killed by magic.

“It was definitely the Killing Curse,” Jo frowns. “That’s why I called you here. I’m afraid that someone has targeted Jessica because she was in the research group with us.”

Castiel’s heart drops. This might be extremely serious. Using the Unforgivables would get you life time imprisonment in most states, but in Washington it means capital punishment.

“You think the research was that close to uncovering some of our secrets?” he asks skeptically. “Why kill them if you could just alter their memories or erase them completely? It looks more like some kind of revenge to me. They _wanted_ this girl _dead_.”

Jo sighs, running her hands over her face. 

“It was my mission to keep an eye on the research as a special agent - and _yeah_ , the research has been getting dangerously close to revealing some facts about our world, but I had it under control. I think you’re right; this seems _personal_ ,” she bites down on her lower lip. “The research itself is quite amazing, really. I have to say I learnt a lot about our community by seeing it through Muggle eyes over the past year.”

Castiel’s face softens. “I think I know that feeling,” he offers. “Looking at the Wizarding community from a Muggle perspective has taught me a lesson.”

They exchange small smiles.

“I think the research has to be it,” Castiel finally concludes. “I doubt young Jessica had any other connection to magic besides that. There are a lot of books on Salem in here, by the way,” he points at the bookshelf just behind Jo.

Jo nods. Then her face scrunches up. “Do you think this means that unless we stop the research, they might target more people in our group? Sam too?” 

Castiel swallows around the lump that’s started to form in his throat as he imagines anyone as much as drawing their wand in Sam or Dean’s proximity. He feels sick.

“Do you have any ideas who might be behind this?”

Jo sighs again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“I have a few guesses, but the most plausible one are Death Eaters, I’m afraid.”

Cas' heart stutters in his chest.

“That can’t be right,” he decides. “I mean, it’s been ten years…”

Jo nods, but her expression darkens.

“Unfortunately that doesn’t mean anything. The AIA know several groups in the south that are known for sympathizing with Voldemort’s philosophy, but we’ve been keeping tabs on them. I just checked, actually, and none of the agents we have there are reporting any unusual activity. It’s mostly just a bunch of Mugglephobic douchebags in the South spewing lots of crap about Magical Purity. They rarely _do_ anything anymore.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Why do you still think some of them killed Jessica, then?”

Jo lets out another deep sigh and then grips the sheet covering Jessica’s body, pulling it completely off.

“Because we found this.”

Castiel’s knees almost give up under him when he sees it, but he manages to stay in upright. There’s a huge Dark Mark burned into the skin of Jessica’s lower back.

“Merlin,” he mutters under his breath, as a wave of nausea hits him and he has to turn completely away from the body so he doesn’t throw up, unwanted images from the war filling his head. 

“Yeah,” Jo says. “When I got here the mark was still kinda glowing green. I’m afraid it’s extremely unlikely that there’s anyone else that could have done it besides Death Eaters.”

“You _think_?” Castiel snaps, suddenly feeling a rush of adrenaline. “What are we going to do now? How do we stop them? And more importantly, how do we stop your group from carrying on with the research?”

Jo shrugs. “I think we just have to believe Sam will want to stop after what’s happened to Jess.”

“Ok, what does that mean for you and I?” Castiel asks. “I mean, do we just carry on as if nothing happened?”

Jo shakes her head. “I can’t, I have to be on this case,” she says. “That is supposed to be my priority.”

“So you’ll just disappear from Sam’s life and that’s it? No goodbyes?”

Jo rubs her hands over her face. “I don’t know,” she moans. “I have to put my job first, though. I have to, Castiel. Also, he might die if he gets caught up in all of this. I’m already trying to figure out how those Death Eaters found out about our research... things will take off from there, hopefully.”

Castiel wants to say more, but then someone new enters the room and by the strong smell of that patchouli cologne he can tell who it is without looking around.

“What is Crowley doing here?” he manages to growl in Jo’s direction and she gives him a pained look.

“I guess he had to be called here since the victim is a Muggle,” she shrugs. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, happy National Muggle Awareness Month to you all,” Crowley announces as he walks with his long black coat, his shoes shiny, his face clean-shaven. 

He raises his eyebrows when he notices Castiel.

“Castiel, what a surprise! This is the second time I’m seeing you this month and I have to say I much prefered the circumstances of our last meeting.”

“Hello, Crowley,” Castiel grits through his teeth. “I’m just here to-”

“To nothing,” Crowley gestures to a group of Aurors lingering behind the door, who then come in with their wands outs and immediately start taking care of the crime scene.

“Look, I like you, Elphaba, but you simply can’t be here,” he frowns at Castiel. “You’re a journalist. This is an AIA investigation, and this lady,” he points at Jo, who blushes, “had no business showing you anything. If any of this shows up in your magazine, you _will_ go to jail, Castiel, clear?”

Castiel is starting to feel pissed off, actually. All the tension, fear, and frustration he’s been feeling all evening threatening to bubble up. He sees a few sparks fly out of his wand.

“How come _you’re_ allowed to be here, Crowley?” he snaps. “You’re not even a Wizard. None of these Aurors should even answer to you.”

Crowley gives him a shark-like smile.

“Now, now, Castiel, why don’t you calm down? See that’s where you’re entirely wrong. A Muggle girl is dead and she was killed by magic. I am literally the only person in Seattle who _should_ be here right now. And if I were you, I would get off that high horse, David Copperfield, because if I’m not mistaken, you were the one who mentioned these kids’ _research_ in your article. It’s probably how the killer found them.”

Castiel feels like Crowley just slapped him in the face. Jo avoids his gaze.  They both now this is it. This is why Sam’s life is in danger. 

It’s all Castiel’s fault.

Crowley nods to himself in satisfaction. “Hadn’t realised that until now, had you? Well, this has been fun,” he claps his hands and rubs them against one another, “but it’s getting a bit crowded in here, so I suggest you take your delivery service elsewhere, Kiki.” He bends down to inspect the body more carefully and Castiel is way too shocked to say anything else.

So he _disapparates._  

* 

**Today in our weekly column, which is part of _National Muggle Awareness Month,_ Castiel offers his musings on Muggle ingenuity:**

_Dear Seattleites, we Wizards and Witches tend to think that we have it all. I mean, we have_ magic, _which is practically a synonym for “everything”, right? If there’s one thing living in the Muggle world as a complete outsider has taught me, it’s that Muggles don’t need magic, period. And what’s more - it is my humble opinion that if magic were suddenly to be introduced to them, it would most likely smother all of that inventiveness and ingenuity. And so I am telling you - we’ve been wrong the whole time: Wizards definitely don’t have it all. We don’t have much, actually, apart from magic, which only takes us so far._

 _Lately I’ve been thinking about all the ways magic has not_ helped _Muggles, but harmed them instead, because that’s what we have to consider first and foremost if we really want to celebrate_ National Muggle Awareness Month _properly. Maybe it’s we who live in a bubble and not them. Maybe it’s we who need to take a step back and see what we can learn from Muggles. I believe we should take a leaf out their book (or take a look at their computer screens?) and stop relying on magic so much. Because in the end it’s_ our actions _that define our future and our fate (for all the seers amongst you: deal with it), and not_ who _we are. I’ve been lucky enough to get a chance to live, more-or-less, like a Muggle, to fall in love with a Muggle, even, and I have to tell you - I have never been able to understand before why some Wizards were willing to give up magic for a chance at a “normal” life with a Muggle partner. I fully understand it now._

_Maybe we’re nearing the times when giving up life with magic will be just as common as giving up smoking or carbs._

_Castiel Novak_

*  *  *

It’s been almost a week since Dean last heard from Castiel and he feels like crap. He can’t believe he never noticed that Castiel didn’t have a phone. And who doesn’t have a phone these days? The only thing that consoles Dean at the moment is that he can be sure Castiel is all right, since he _managed_ to at least leave him a handwritten message on his table. The thing is, not only does the message not make sense, it’s also written on a piece of parchment, like Castiel is mocking him or something.

 

_Dear Dean,_

_I have gone to Hannah’s for a couple of days. Please don’t be mad and don’t go looking for me. Tell Sam I’m sorry and that Gabriel will keep him company while I’m away._

_I’m ok._

_In case of emergency, write back on the other side of this message and give it to Gabriel. He’ll know what to do._

_Miss you already,_

_Castiel_

 

 _I’m ok._ What does that even mean? Why did Castiel have to leave all of a sudden? And when Dean really needed him, too? Surely, it couldn’t be just because of Dean’s behaviour at the dinner. Dean is hoping it’s not, but there’s this little annoying voice in the back of his mind that keeps telling him that it’s his fault Cas left. That everybody would leave him, eventually, because he’s just not worth it. 

It doesn’t help that Sam has been wandering around the apartment like a ghost, refusing to talk or eat anything. 

The only thing that gets Sam to liven up these days is Gabriel. Dean has no idea why Cas chose to leave the freakin _bird_ behind of all things, but he’s glad, even if apart from feeding the bird, cleaning its cage and letting it out for the night, Sam is doing little else and it’s driving Dean up the wall.

On the fourth day of Cas’ absence Dean decides that he can’t take it anymore and takes Sam to Benny’s, determined to make the boy speak if it’s the last thing he does. 

Benny frowns at them when they enter the bar, but one look at Sam’s downcast face and he’s already grabbing two beer bottles. Dean nods at him gratefully. He’s not usually one to support under-age drinking, but if Sam needs to do it, it’s best that he’s with him. Maybe getting a little tipsy and forgetting that one of his closest friends just died is just the thing that his brother needs the most right now. And it won’t hurt if Dean gets a little tipsy himself and forgets about Castiel for a moment.

“You feelin’ alright, brother?” Benny quirks an eyebrow when he delivers their drinks. “That boy of yours have been giving you trouble?”

Dean gives him a sad smile.

“It’s all a bit shit at the moment, Benny,” he admits, patting Sam on the back as he takes a swing from his bottle, his eyes glassy. “We had a horrible weekend, Cas has gone to his sister’s… and Sam’s…” he trails off, unsure of what to say.

“And Sam’s drinking to forget,” Benny finishes his sentence for him. “I can see that he’s very troubled.”

Dean looks over at Sam, who is staring at his phone as if he was willing it to ring.

“She not messaged you yet?” Dean asks, confident he knows which message is Sam waiting for.

Sam shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice cracking in the process. “I’ve heard nothing from her since it happened except that she needed some time alone. I’m just hoping she’s ok.”

Dean sighs. “Is there anything new about Jess’ death?”

Sam keeps shaking his head. “Nothing. I tried calling the police station, but they said it’s not their case anymore and when I called the phone number they gave me, there was just some Ukranian folk music playing on the other side.”

Dean frowns. “Ok, _creepy_.”

Sam nods bitterly. “I just hope everyone else is fine. I heard from Kevin, he’s back in the dorms, trying to forget, I guess, and Garth has gone to his parents for the week. It looks like everybody is jumping the ship, so we might as well nix the project.”

Dean sits up straighter on the stool. “Are you serious? You’ve been working your assess off on this for two years now! You can’t just give up.”

Sam gives him a frustrated glare. “But how do we do it without Jess? She was the expert on Salem. All I do is look around Seattle for pagan enthusiasts and weird witchy crap.”

Dean shrugs and takes a gulp of his beer. “You’re extremely good at finding weird witchy crap?” he offers.

Sam snorts bitterly. “I feel like there’s no point, Dean. Everything is crumbling. Even your boyfriend left us.”

Dean breaths in through his nose. “Ok, hold up there. Cas hasn’t left us, alright? He’ll be back. I know he’ll be back.”

Sam finishes his beer and signals to Benny to bring him another one. (Dean rolls his eyes and nods when Benny raises his eyebrows at him to confirm the order.) 

“You’re just fooling yourself, Dean. Everybody always leaves us,” Sam hiccups. 

And dammit, he couldn’t have gotten drunk from one bottle of beer, could he? Or had he been drinking on the sly?

“Oh god, you haven’t eaten anything, have you,” Dean rubs his hand against his face. This is going to be an interesting night. 

“Did Cas leave because you refused to hold his hand at the table?” Sam asks, coking his head to the side.

Dean shoots him a dirty look. “Shut up, Sammy.”

Sam shrugs. “What? I’m just asking. I noticed you were acting really weird at the dinner before everything happened.”

Dean’s shoulders fall. What if Sam’s right? What if he really drove Castiel away? Should they start looking for a new roommate already? His heart clenches when he thinks about Cas’s room without the ever present piles of papers, owl feathers, and the smell of ink constantly hanging in the air.

Sam is squinting at the door. “Hey, Dean, isn’t that the deputy mayor?”

“What?” Dean’s head whips around and sure enough, Crowley is walking towards the bar with a beautiful dark-haired woman in a pantsuit in tow. Dean takes one look at the women’s gorgeous blue eyes and wavy brown hair and he’s quite sure that’s Castiel’s sister Hannah that he’s seeing.

A thrill runs down his spine. There it is, his chance to get Cas back from wherever he went.

“Oh, bugger,” Crowley says when their eyes lock. Hannah also looks like she’d rather not be here when she notices Dean. Dean doesn’t care, though. He’s getting his answers tonight if he has to freakin’ shake it out of Cas’ sister.

“Hello, Mr deputy mayor,” he says when Crowley reluctantly sits down two chairs away from him and orders whisky. “I’m so glad to see you, you have no idea.”

Crowley quirks an eyebrow. “Really. I think I have a fairly good idea, Dean Winchester. This here is my lovely assistant, Hannah Novak. Take it away, you two, I’m going to hit the little boy’s room,” he slides off the chair and disappears in the bathroom. Dean moves closer to Hannah, who’s drinking plain water, looking troubled.

“Hi, I don’t know whether Cas has told you about me,” he start, feeling a little bit shy. “I’m Dean.”

“Winchester,” Hannah squints at him exactly the same way Castiel always does and it makes Dean miss that dork so much his whole body starts aching. “Yeah, I know who you are.” She sets the glass back down on the napkin. “I guess you want to know how he is?”

Dean nods. “I mean, yeah, is he ok?” he asks tentatively, his original determination to press her for information slowly leaving him. 

“He’s fine,” she says. “He’s a little bit preoccupied with work at the moment, though. I think he just needs a little time,” she adds, giving Dean a kind look. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. I have to focus on babysitting my boss so he doesn’t end up naked in the ocean. Again.”

Dean snorts, forgetting he is on a mission for a second, because that mental image is just too hilarious to pass up and he’s got enough beer in himself to picture it in all its glory. “Crowley? Naked in the ocean?”

Hannah winks at him. “His pasty English complexion looks ridiculous against the dark water. Truly a sight to behold.”

Dean laughs. Then his expression turns serious again.

“And you’re really not gonna tell me more about Cas? Where he is? What happened to make him leave? When will he be back?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Hannah sighs. “It’s really not my place to say or do anything. Besides, my brother would have my head if I told you anything. He’s still very upset. Like I said, he needs more time. He’ll come around, you’ll see.”

What is Cas even thinking, pulling a disappearing act like that? And being upset? Well, Dean is upset too!

“Well, thank you for talking to me, anyway,” he says to Hannah, who sighs and worries her lip between her teeth.

“Look, Dean, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Castiel is really crazy about you. He’s dealing with some stuff right now, but there is no doubt he’s in it for the long haul ok? If anything else, he’s worried about you not wanting _him_ at the moment.”

Dean frowns. “What do you mean? Why would I not want him? He’s done nothing wrong.”

Hannah slaps her hand across her mouth. “Oh no, I’ve said too much,” she bangs her fist against the bar, “ _dammit_.” 

Fortunately for her, Crowley has just arrived back from the toilets and Dean is in his seat, so he has to move away from Hannah.

“I won’t tell you anything more, Dean. It was nice to finally meet you though,” she says, smiling softly. “I hope we can meet under much better circumstances next time.” She then turns her full attention back Crowley, signaling to Dean that the conversation is over.

Dean’s shoulders fall. He returns to Sam, who has meanwhile managed to get through another bottle of beer. Dean orders one too.

Somewhere around Sam’s fourth bottle Dean makes a decision to stop drinking, already pretty sure he’ll have to carry Gigantor home on his back. They stumble back into the apartment around midnight, Sam completely hammered, Dean only pleasantly buzzed, but feeling detached enough to believe that he’ll actually get some sleep for once.

Sam heads straight to bed, not even bothering to brush his teeth, and he buries his head so deep in the pillow only his hair is sticking out.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean whispers, although he’s not sure who’s he whispering at, since he actually needs Sam to hear him and there’s nobody else except for a nocturnal bird in the other room.

Sam grunts something back in answer. 

Dean moves closer and pulls the covers over him, sighing in defeat. “You need to get your hair cut soon, Sammy.”

Dean walks into Castiel’s bedroom, which has been almost completely cleaned out, aside from the owl age on the night-stand and some random documents and parchment scrolls on the desk. Seeing the parchment scrolls remind Dean of Castiel’s message and he reaches into his pocket to get it out, struggling to make out each letter in his intoxicated state as he reads it and re-reads it and re-reads it.

The words are the same each time and they are still making absolutely no sense. Dean knows it’s pathetic, but he can’t help but miss Cas just from looking at his messy handwriting. His heartbeat picks up speed as he makes up his mind and quickly darts into kitchen to grab a regular pen (there is no way he is going to attempt to write anything with a quill when he’s tipsy).

 

_Dear Cas_

_This is stupid, why am I doing this?_

_Oh yeah, I know, it’s because I’m drunk. Also your fault, by the way._

_Your message said to write if there was an emergency.  This is an emergency._

_I love you._

_Please come back. I miss you like crazy._

_Dean_

_P. S. I can’t believe I’m about to give this to a bird, but here goes._

 

He folds the parchment into a neat little packet and then looks over at Gabriel in his cage, who cocks his head to one side just like his owner.

“You gonna take it?” As soon as the owl hears the words he beaks the cage door open and flies out, landing smoothly on the sheets beside Dean.

“Whoa. Ok, then,” Dean blinks in surprise, not sure whether making any sudden movements might make Gabriel peck him. He carefully outstretches his hand, palm up, offering the letter to the bird as if it were a treat.

Gabriel chirps twice as if saying ‘yes, yes, I’ll take it’ and takes the parchment into his beak. The he flaps his wings and disappears through the opened window into the night.

“Sweet Jesus. I think I may have drunk too much.” Dean rubs his hands in his eyes and stares at the window for a while, before deciding to curl up on Cas’ bed and finally get some shut-eye. 

He’s only out for what feels like five seconds when the mattress dips next to him and someone’s warm body presses against his side. 

“Go back to your bed, Sammy, I don’t want your drunken ass in here.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean flinches at the sound of the familiar voice. He sits up on the bed, trying to make out Castiel’s features in the dark.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

He can only see Castiel’s sad smile because they are already so close.

“I was very quiet. I got your message.”

Dean grimaces. “Owl mail, right? You realise that’s seriously messed-up, training an owl to carry letters. How did he even know the address? It’s not like owls have GPS installed.”

Castiel laughs and it’s the best sound Dean has heard all week. He’s starting to feel like his blood is once again coursing through his veins.

“Dean. I love you too.”

Dean’s breath hitches and then he’s grabbing the front of Cas’s shirt and pulling him in, their lips crashing against each other. His mouth is hot and tastes a little bit like whisky and he can’t get enough of it. Dean rolls them over so he’s on top, pinning Cas’s arms above his head. Warmth pools in his stomach when he feels how much Cas already wants this, how much he wants _Dean._

“God, I missed you so much,” he gasps when Cas starts trailing kisses down the side of his neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. “I can’t believe you’re here. Listen, if I did anything to-”

“You need to stop talking,” Castiel grunts, yanking his arms free of Dean’s grip and tugging at his t-shirt. 

Dean almost laughs, pulling the top over his head, his breath hitching at the way Cas’s eyes rake over his torso. He closes his eyes for a second and clears his throat, ready to at least fucking try and find out where Castiel has been the whole time, but before he even manages to connect his brain to his speech organs, any such thoughts are effectively crossed out by a hot mouth latching onto the dip just below his collarbone.

Dean lets out a loud groan.

Looks like they won’t get to have any constructive conversations tonight.

*  *  *

Castiel feels like crap as he untangles himself from the sheets in the morning. 

It’s early - too early for Dean to be anything else but fast asleep with his mouth slightly open and hands stretched out above his head. He looks beautiful, which makes Castiel feel even worse. He combs his fingers through his hair, letting out a long sigh. 

He is screwing up so, _so_ badly all over again.

The glowing clock on the night-stand reads 4 am when Castiel pulls on his clothes, grimacing as the dried mess on his stomach rubs uncomfortably against the underside of his shirt. His heartbeat picks up speed when his thoughts trail to the exact moment when he _made that mess_ , but he simply shakes his head and tries to push those memories away, because otherwise he might not be able to leave. Otherwise he might have to get back into bed and stare at Dean’s face until there is enough light in the room for him to make out all the freckles on Dean’s nose. And then he might start trailing kisses across those freckles. And then he might keep going lower...

Castiel screws his eyes shut for a second, composing himself. He needs to go. _Now._ He looks at Dean’s sleeping frame one last time and then _apparates_ back to Hannah’s apartment, where he goes straight to the kitchen and magics himself a giant mug of black coffee, because there’s no way he’s going to fall asleep again anyway. 

It’s taking all of his willpower not to start crying right now, especially when he cracks and lets himself remember last night’s events.

He was going to leave Dean alone until the investigation was finished, he really was, but when Gabriel delivered Dean’s message to him last night and he read those words, he acted without thinking. He simply _needed_ to go to the apartment. He needed to _see_ Dean. He needed to _hold_ him, to _kiss_ him, to be _so close to him_ he wouldn’t be able to tell where he started and Dean ended.

...Which is of course how they ended up having sex for the first time in a middle of the night after not speaking to each other for nearly a full week. And yeah, in retrospect, Castiel probably just made it a thousand times worse by leaving Dean _yet again,_ but he simply couldn’t stay. Not yet. Not when there is a group of Death Eaters trying to kill Sam because of Castiel’s stupid articles.

He’s leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee, staring blankly out of the dark kitchen window  when Hannah walks in clad in a robe. Her hair looks like something has made a nest in it and there are dark circles under her eyes.

“Castiel,” she rasps, sitting down heavily on one of the chairs. “You’re my little brother and I care about you, but sometimes I feel like someone switched you in the hospital when you were born.”

Castiel’s brow furrows.

Hannah sighs, laying her head on the table. 

“You went to see Dean, you moron, didn’t you.”

Castiel nods.

“In the middle of the night,” Hannah continues.

Castiel nods.

Hannah gazes up at him with searching eyes, lingering on his unbuttoned and untucked shirt and the hickey he knows is starting to bloom in the dip just below his collarbone.

“And by the looks of it, you guys had ... _relations_ ,” she finishes dryly. 

Castiel’s cheeks flame up. “We might have… um, not that it’s any of your business, Hannah.”

Hannah barks out a laugh. “Brother, you made it my damn business when you asked me for _help_. You made it my business when _my boss_ decided that since I was related to you I had to stay at the office and do paperwork while _he_ works on the most exciting case we’ve had in years.” She rubs her eyes sleepily. “You made it _my business_ when you came here absolutely devastated last weekend, begging me to let you stay the night,” she frowns. “You made it my business when I felt like an absolute heartless harpy when I ran into Dean in a bar and had to explain to him that you didn’t want to see him.”

Castiel feels really bad, but it’s really hard to care about Hannah’s issues when his heart is shattering into million pieces (and also beating really fast because that coffee he magicked up is way too strong).

“I’m sorry?” he offers. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like things have been crazy lately. Like this is all a nightmare. Nothing makes sense. Ten years since the war and there are still Death Eaters in America? Killing Muggle kids?” He scrambles both of his hands over his face, taking a deep breath. “I’m just so tired of everything. I needed to see him. I needed to _feel him_. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Hannah rolls her eyes. “All I’m asking is that you talk to me before you do anything else, ok? You can stay here for however long you want, but stop _disapparating_ to Merlin knows where in the middle of the night! I thought something had happened to you, you idiot!” she snaps, shooting him a dirty glare. “I was almost certain you’d gone after those Death Eaters yourself.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I may be stupid where Dean is concerned, but I used to be a good soldier.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Hannah, I’m really sorry I made you worry about me. You gonna go back to sleep?”

Hannah squints up at him. “I’m not just leaving you here to mope around like a teenager on your own. Give me some of that coffee, it smells really good,” she demands. “I hope last night was worth it, at least.”

Castiel shyly returns her gaze from underneath his eyelashes. 

“It was amazing.”

She rolls her eyes, but reaches up to pat him on the arm, lips stretching into a soft smile.

They only get through the morning thanks to Castiel’s strong coffee and bowls of Cheeriowls, when Hannah fails her attempt to wand-toast bread after Castiel tells her he doesn’t think it can be done. They try to listen to the wireless, neither of them keen on the awkward silence created by Hannah’s exhaustion and Castiel’s brooding mood, but the cheerful voice of the local Weather Wizard soon proves too much for Hannah, and Castiel has to guard the radio with his body against her hexes when he starts singing some made up tune about rainbows.

It’s about 7 am when someone rings the doorbell and they frown at each other in confusion, since they definitely aren’t expecting anyone. 

To say that Castiel is shocked to Salem and back when he sees the unlikely pair outside would be an understatement.

“Since when do the two of you hang out with each other?” he squints at Samandriel and Jo instead of greeting them. 

Samandriel gives him a small smile while Jo just stares at him with her eyebrows raised. Castiel is so confused by the unusual coupling that he completely misses how worn-down she looks. Fortunately, Hannah seems to have a bit more tact left in her than Castiel, because she invites them inside and offers them coffee (no toast), which they gratefully accept. 

When they’re all sitting down at the table, Castiel notices that Jo’s face is ashy and her voice hushed when she thanks Hannah for the mug. 

He suddenly gets a very bad feeling about all this.

“Kevin was found dead in a dumpster behind Starbucks on 2nd Avenue,” Jo says when she’s had a sip of her coffee. “He had the Dark Mark burned into his lower back, just like Jess.”

Castiel feels sick when he recalls the sweet kid from Sam’s get-together. He curses under his breath.

“That’s horrible,” Hannah rasps. 

“Is Sam ok?” Castiel asks and is comforted by the small smile Sam’s name evokes on Jo.

“Yeah, he’s fine. I checked on him this morning. He was very hungover, but seemed really happy to see me,” she admits. “I’ve been avoiding him because of the case, but when I found out about Kevin last night I had to go see him, to make sure he was all right.”

Castiel nods, ignoring the pang in his chest. “I know what you mean.” Then he looks over at Samandriel.

“Why is Samandriel here, though?” 

Samandriel sits up a little straighter in his chair, his face going pale at once, as if he’s about to say something really bad. Castiel is not sure he can take any more bad.

“I think I know where the Death Eaters who are killing these Muggles are stationed,” he begins, fidgeting with his hands.

Hannah frowns. “What? Where?”

Samandriel looks over at Jo, who nods at him in encouragement. “Go on, Samadriel, it’s just between the four of us now.” She looks at Castiel, offering an explanation. “He wouldn’t tell me until you were there.”

“I think it’s _The_ _Sorcerer_ offices,” Samandriel breathes. “Yesterday I was sorting through some parchments in the printing room and making copies for the archive, when I came across this,” he sticks his hand into his robes and takes out a scroll, which he smooths out on the table with shaky fingers.

Castiel’s heart stops for a second. 

“It’s my article,” he swallows, taking a closer look. “Or the first draft of it, anyway. And some of the sentences are underlined.”

Someone has definitely been studying every word he’s written and dissected it in details. Some of the words are circled, some of them are highlighted, but most of the stuff, especially the stuff that has to do with Sam’s research, is underlined with red ink.

“Someone’s been focusing on Sam in these articles,” he notes, feeling faint. “It’s a good thing _The Sorcerer_ never prints any names.”

Samandriel nods in agreement. “That’s why this is really, really bad.” He bites down on his lower lip and flips the parchment over. 

The air is filled with three loud gasps as they all read the words scrawled on there:

_Sam Winchester, 504 Spring St._

“Fuck,” Jo snaps, jumping out of her chair, suddenly revived. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner? We need to go check on Sam again!” She’s already holding her wand, her face quickly regaining colour as she starts getting into ‘Auror mode’.

“I was worried Castiel might get in trouble, it’s _his article_ ,” Samandriel’s face scrunches up as he looks over to Castiel, who’s honestly having trouble breathing at the moment. “Also this means that someone at our office is collaborating with Death Eaters. That’s not something you just blurt out.”

“It’s ok, Samandriel,” Hannah pats him on the shoulder. Castiel can see that she’s already psyching herself up for a fight as well. He knows that protective spells aren’t Hannah’s strong suit, which is why his insides turns to lead as he watches her pick up her wand as well. 

They’re going to have to be good enough, the four of them.

When Castiel finally regains control of his mouth, he only manages to say one thing:

“I believe we all know the address.”

They all _apparate,_ arriving in front of the Winchesters’ apartment and Castiel’s heart nearly stops for the second time when he notes that the door is already ajar and that there is no sign of struggle anywhere. It can only mean one thing - someone has gotten inside by magic.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , we need to get back-up,” he hears Jo whisper behind his back. “It has to be by owl mail, though, you can’t apparate into the AIA quarters,” she stresses and Castiel curses under his breath. 

He turns to Hannah. “Gabriel is in the living room in your apartment. Owl the AIA and come back as soon as you can,” he whispers. 

Hannah jerks her head in acknowledgement and turns on her heal, _disapparating_ with a muffled _snap_. 

“Get behind us, Samandriel, and don’t fight unless you absolutely have to,” Castiel instructs the intern, knowing that Samandriel probably doesn’t have any experience when it comes to magical fights.

It’s strange, because all it took was seeing that address on that piece of parchment and Castiel is suddenly ten years younger and back on the battlefield, fighting Death Eaters in Britain. His head starts swimming with unwanted pictures of dead bodies and bloodied faces, but he pushes it all to the very corner of his mind, determined to not let it overwhelm him right now.

He needs to get to Sam and Dean. He needs to make sure they’re ok.

Jo slowly pushes the door open and they all tiptoe inside, quiet as mouses, wands at the ready. Castiel can hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen, so he signals Jo to move in that direction, carefully walking towards the connecting door that usually always stays open. 

“You’re freakin’ insane, dude,” they hear Dean’s deep voice and Castiel hopes that whoever the Death Eater inside is, they have enough patience not to kill him on the spot for being so direct. 

“What are we gonna do?” 

Samandriel’s voice is full of anxiety. Castiel is half-tempted to send him back to the apartment, but they need the extra person to cover them, so he doesn’t.

“We’re going in on three,” Castiel decides, pointing his wand at the handle. “I’ll focus on him. Make sure he doesn’t harm Sam and Dean,” he tells Jo, who nods in understanding. “You stay back,” he repeats to Samandriel, who stumbles a couple of steps back, his legs shaky.

“One,” Castiel mouths, his heart picking up speed, “two, _three_.”

The door explodes as Castiel uses a non-verbal _Blasting Curse_ , breaking it into a million little pieces, which gives them the element of surprise. 

Castiel blinks through the smoke, just about making out a tall dough-faced man clad in black dress-robes. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t recognise him - definitely not from the office. The Death Eater’s wand is pointed at Sam, but he’s looking at Castiel and Jo in surprise, eyes quickly narrowing in anger.

“Surrender right now,” Castiel grits through his teeth, focusing all of his attention on the unfamiliar looking man and absolutely refusing to look anywhere else, let alone at Dean, who he knows is standing right next to the Death Eater and is probably staring at him like he’s crazy. Hell, he’d be staring at _all of them_ like they were crazy if he were a Muggle. Four grown people pointing at each other with wooden sticks.

The Death Eater quickly regains his composure and smirks.

“I will never surrender. Not in front of Muggles,” he says, gesturing towards Sam with his wand and Castiel just has to look, he has to, because he needs to make sure that Sam is ok.

Sam’s eyes are wide as he keeps looking from Jo to Sam to the Death Eater, his mouth opening in shock.

“What’s happening?” He demands in a small voice.

“Sam, please, don’t say anything else,” Jo stresses.

“Let the Muggle speak,” the Death Eater frowns. “I have been waiting for the opportunity to kill this one, I have to say. The first two were easy to get rid of, but they weren’t the brains behind the whole operation.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean snaps and Castiel quickly speaks over him:

“What is your name and why are you killing these innocent Muggles?” he demands in a strong voice, still dead set on not looking at Dean.

The Death Eater’s face scrunches up.

“You - _you’re_ Castiel Novak, I recognise your face from that dirty Mugglist magazine. You’re the one who wrote all those articles about these Muggles.” He snorts. “National Muggle Awareness Month! It’s disgusting and ridiculous. There’s no reason for us to even think about these worms,” he jerks his chin in Sam’s direction. “We have magic! We’re superior!”

“Put your wand down and state your name,” Castiel repeats, feeling the vein on his forehead pulse in rage as he recognises the philosophy his parents liked so much back in the 90s. It makes him feel sick.

“Zachariah,” the Death Eater announces, his voice full of poison. "I serve the memory of Lord Voldemort, the only Wizard in the world who knew the real value of magic.”

“Put your wand down, Zachariah, it doesn’t have to be like this,” Castiel growls. In his head, he’s trying to calculate just how fast he can disarm the Death Eater without in any way endangering Sam or Dean. From the corner of his eye he can see Jo’s eyes flashing as she’s most definitely trying to devise her own plan.

“This Muggle,” Zachariah narrows his eyes at Sam again, “thought that the Witch Trials were _so very fascinating,”_ he says in a mocking voice. “He thought it was all a game. Dirtying our past with his stupid Muggle research. So we decided to teach all Muggles who think they are better than us a lesson,” he smirks. 

Castiel frowns. “We?”

Zachariah nods with a smile and just as he finishes saying it, there’s a flash of green light and a loud thud as someone’s body hits the floor in the hallway.

“Samandriel,” Jo breathes in horror next to Castiel and if Castiel wasn’t in his war mood right now, he would probably crumble to the ground. His hand shakes a little at the thought of his innocent assistant being brutally murdered just a few steps from him, but he grips his wand tighter, forcing back tears.

“You really are stupid, aren't you. Did you really think I was working alone? Who do you think helped me find this place?” Zachariah jeers.

“Who’s there? Surrender, this is AIA!” Jo shouts in the direction of the hallway.

“Release these Muggles right now,” Castiel tells Zachariah, who just raises his eyebrows nonchalantly. “At least then we can have a fair fight,” he growls. “You think you’re a great warlock, don’t you, killing defenceless Muggles like it’s just a game.”

“It’s never been a game, Castiel. It’s a _cause_ ,” new, rather _familiar_ voice announces all of the sudden. 

Castiel twists around, finding himself facing the end of Uriel’s wand.

“Uriel. You killed _Samandriel_ ,” He growls, looking Uriel in the eyes. There’s no trace of regrets anywhere in there.

Uriel grimaces.

“An unavoidable expense,” he shrugs. “Don’t worry, Castiel, that pet of yours didn’t suffer, though. The Killing Curse is very quick and painless, as you know.”

Castiel is just about to say something else, to try and convince his colleague that this is not how magic should be preserved, not through killing and violence, but then several things happen at once: 

Zachariah starts saying _Avada Kedavra_ , but before he manages to finish the words, Jo hits him in the chest with the Knee Reversing Hex and he crumbles to the ground, grasping at his legs; there’s are several loud snaps as at least four Aurors lead by Hannah _apparate_ into the apartment. And then there’s one much louder bang that makes everybody jump and suddenly Castiel is also falling to the floor along with Uriel, who falls on top of him. 

Castiel’s head hits the floor with a nasty crack, his mind going blank. He’s almost sure he’d dead or about to die when he hears what he thinks is Dean’s voice calling his name. The last thing he can make out in all of the racket that has so quickly filled the tiny room before he loses consciousness is someone shouting the Full-body Bind Curse.

And then there’s nothing.

Fortunately, it only takes several minutes for Castiel to regain his senses after the Aurors remove Uriel’s dead body from him and he can breathe again. 

He gets up on his shaky legs and suddenly finds himself staring into Dean’s eyes. 

It’s surreal. 

Castiel was sure he was about to die and now he gets to see those eyes again. He’s alive. And what more: _Dean_ is alive. He has no idea how, but they made it.

He carefully looks Dean over, making a note of the still smoking gun in his hand and the way his jaw is set like he’s gritting his teeth. 

“I shot that son of a bitch,” Dean grunts, looking Castiel straight in the eyes. “And now I want some explanations.”

Castiel looks down at his shoes, his words stuck in his throat. This conversation has been long overdue for the two of them, but even though he has tried picture so many times how it would go, nothing could have prepared him for it. 

How do you explain someone you love that everything they know about you is basically a lie? How can you do that without losing them in the process? 

“Dean, it’s-” he starts, but is immediately interrupted by one of the Aurors.

“Mr Novak, I believe you cracked your skull right there.” The Auror carefully touches the back of his head, and yeah, so that’s why Castiel’s neck feels so warm - there’s blood all over it.

“Uh,” Castiel grunts, his attention still on Dean. “It’s fine.”

“Castiel!” Hannah walks over, wand at the ready. “I will take care of this,” she tells the Auror, who nods and turns towards Sam and Dean.

“Mr Winchester, well, both of you,” he says, gesturing towards Sam (who Castiel notices with relief is completely unharmed) to come closer. “I will have to ask you to accompany me to the station. There are some things that need clarification.”

“Oh God,” Sam mumbles, looking at Castiel’s wand and then his eyes linger at Jo’s Auror robe. “Dean, I think I finally get it.”

“Well, that’s just _amazing_ , Sammy, would you please care to enlighten me? Because I feel like I just swallowed a handful of crazy pills!” Dean demands again, his voice raising.

“Please calm down sir, everything’s gonna be fine,” another Auror starts assuring  him. “Just come with us, ok?”

Castiel feels someone’s hand grip his shoulder.

“They’re going to wipe their memories, Castiel,” Hannah whisper to his ear. She points her wand at his head. “ _Tergeo_ ,” she says. And then: “ _Episke_ y. It’s not that bad. The blood made it look much worse,” she comments.

Castiel nods, screwing his eyes shut for a moment to try and make the dizziness go away.

“Officer,” he looks at the Auror, his face burning as he tries to avoid Dean’s hard gaze. “You can’t wipe these men’s memories. They belong to me. I…” he loses it for a second, but quickly manages to regain his willpower, clearing his throat to mask his hesitation, “this is my partner,” he points at Dean. “Our relationship classifies as serious, therefore according to the Constitution, he is entitled to knowing the truth without any consequences. Which means that nobody can mess with his head unless I give you permission,” he adds, his voice strong.

The Auror quirks an eyebrow at him.

“You’re Castiel Novak, aren’t you. I read your articles. You’re the Wizard who likes living with Muggles better than having magic.”

Castiel nods, because hell yeah he does and he’s gonna be damn proud of it if that’s what it takes to make sure Dean keeps his memories.

The Auror smiles at him, letting go of Dean.

“My wife is a Muggle, you know. I like your articles. Both of us do. We’ll still need his statement, though,” he quips. “And the other one’s as well,” he points at Sam, who is presently being fussed over by Jo in the corner of the room, his eyes sparkling as she fixes a deep scratch on his cheek with a healing spell.

Castiel nods pensively. “I’ll make sure you get the statements, sir.”

The Auror nods again and then the lot of them collect Samadriel from the hallway (Castiel can’t even look as they gently lift him up with magic, feeling a stabbing pain somewhere near his heart), Uriel’s dead body, and Zachariah’s stiff form and _disapparate_ from the apartment.

“I need to go to the station,” Jo speaks once they’re gone, rubbing Sam’s arm with her hand. “Reports and stuff. You wanna come with?” She looks up at him and they just gaze into each other’s eyes for a while, until Sam nods.

“I want to know everything,” he tells her.

Jo nods and gets a hold of his hand, squeezing it before she _disapparates_ as well, tugging him along.

When they’re suddenly alone in the kitchen, just the two of them, Castiel is so exhausted he just wants to lie down somewhere and fall asleep. All that adrenaline that’s been coursing through his veins during the fight has left his body without trace and all that is left is just tiredness, sadness over Samandriel’s death and most of all, _guilt._

Guilt about absolutely everything that’s just happened. Right now, Castiel wants to crawl into some hole in the ground and never come out into the light again, but Dean looks like he wants some answers.

So yeah, why the hell not, he’ll give him some answers if he wants them so badly. It doesn’t matter he just had a near-death experience, does it.

“Just ask me whatever you want to know, Dean,” he sighs. “Sam will be ok, by the way, Jo is a good Witch.”

Dean folds his arms across his chest. His face is a stone.

“Start from the beginning.”

*

An hour later and Castiel is close to tears again. 

“Let me get this straight once more,” Dean says, his voice toneless and emotionless. “Your people wanted to kill my brother, is that what you’re saying to me right now?”

Castiel closes his eyes for a moment. He’s tried over and over, explaining everything to Dean, but all he keeps taking from the conversation is that all Wizards think they are superior to Muggles. It’s like talking to a rock.

“There’s no 'my people', Dean,” he struggles to explain yet again. “It’s not like we’re a different species, we’re the same, we just have some… extra special abilities.”

“The way I understand it from what I’ve seen and heard today, your magical powers, your _mojo_ , or _whatever_ , makes you superhuman, which means you are _superior_ to us. You can do whatever you want with us - wipe our memories, kill us... Christ Cas, you even have a special name for us! It makes me sick to my stomach. Not only did I just find out that magic is real, but I also just found out that Wizards are first-class douchebags.”

He walks over the the fridge and takes out a bottle of beer, popping it open against the counter. He takes a deep swing.

“This is so unfair, Dean,” Castiel snarls, getting as angry as Dean. “I always treated you as equal. And Muggle is not a dirty word. Muggles have been calling _us_ names since forever. Have you ever talked to Sam? Looked at his research? How can you be so blind? The Salem incidents? My kind has been hunted and killed by ‘your people’ in the name of your beliefs since forever! That’s why we’re keeping our abilities secret!”

Dean sets the bottle on the counter with a loud thud. “Ok, let’s say you just _love_ us ‘regular humans’, then. You still lied. You’ve used us, Cas. And for what? ‘Couple of fucking _articles_ for your weird-ass magazine? I’ll bet you all had a great laugh about your life with us _losers_ , right? You weren’t even planning on sticking after this _Muddle Awareness Month,_ or whatever it’s called, is over?” he shakes his head. “I thought we… Jesus, I can’t even look at you right now,” he breathes through his nose. “Can’t you just…?”

Castiel looks up, locking his eyes with Dean’s in a silent challenge. 

“Do you want me to go, Dean? Because I will. But remember what that Auror said. You could get your memories wiped if they find out we’re not together. You _and_ Sam.”

Dean visibly swallows. “You know what? Maybe that would be for the best.”

So Castiel _disapparates_.

*  *  *

On the 1st of June Dean gets up to find Sam and Jo making out in the kitchen over magicked up coffee and waffles. 

It takes him a while to get used to the fact that Sam is now apparently dating a Witch, who is also a member of the Wizard police (he refuses to use the word Auror, this is not Star Trek and as Castiel said, they are not a different species), but he’s _adapting_. 

It’s surprisingly easy, coming to terms with the fact that magic is real, actually, once he experiences a couple of spells first hand. It is still a bit strange, like they’re in a movie and everything is just one elaborate CGI effect, but there is also something cool about it, Dean can’t deny that.

“Morning, lovebirds,” he rolls his eyes after he gives them couple more seconds to enjoy each other and walks into the kitchen, reaching for one of the waffles as well.

Sam and Jo immediately jump apart, blush spreading across their cheeks and Dean is suddenly taken back to the several instances Sam caught him and Cas kissing in this very position. He ignores the way his stomach clenches and pushes the thoughts away, smiling instead.

“Hey, Dean,” Jo says sheepishly. “Did you sleep well?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You really don’t have to make small talk, Jo, it’s not like I’m going to implode everytime I see you. It’s Sam’s business.”

Jo nods, her hand sliding down Sam’s arm to catch his hand in hers.

“I’m glad.”

“How are, you know, _things_?” Dean asks, struggling to make his voice sound as nonchalant as possible. 

Sam chuckles under his breath, instantly seeing through Dean’s bullshit.

Jo smiles. “You know you could just say the word and I’ll bring Castiel here. Or tell you where to find him. Merlin knows you two need to sort out your crap.”

Dean shakes his head, frowning. “ _Hell no_. I’m still pissed at him. I was just wondering how he was doing, considering he probably lost his job after, you know, _all that_.”

Jo shakes her head. “Actually no. Funnily enough, his boss, Naomi, was really impressed with his writing. She let him convince her that there should be a Muggle feature in the magazine every week and that there should be articles written by actual Muggles as well.”

Dean shrugs. “Yay for him?” Ugh, so what if Cas was now apparently some kind of Muggle advocate? He’d still lied.  

“That’s incredible,” Sam’s eyes widen. “Do you think _I_ could apply for that position?” He blurts out in an eager voice. Dean rolls his eyes. “Ugh, sorry, Dean,” Sam adds immediately.

Dean rubs his hands over his face.

“I know you think I should just forgive him,” he grunts. “But it’s not that simple. what if Castiel thinks I’m something less than him? I mean, I know he _claims_ he doesn’t, but what if that changes? Because I can’t do, you know, _magic and shit_ ,” he adds, pointing at Jo’s wand, which is lying by the sink.

“That’s stupid, Dean. I don’t see Sam like that at all,” Jo crosses her arms over her chest. “Castiel’s family might be anti-Muggle and Merlin knows the Wizarding world is full of gross magical supremacist, but I know for a fact that Castiel _loves_ you,” she stresses. “More than that, he _admires_ you. You saved his life when Uriel tried to hit him with the Killing Curse.”

Dean shrugs, although his lips purse a little when he remembers the whole fight and the way Uriel smirked as he pointed his wand at Castiel when nobody else was paying attention to them.

He’s really glad he acted on autopilot and blew the SOB’s brains out.

He sighs.

“I know you both see Cas as Glinda the Good or _whatever_ , but that doesn’t change the fact that most of the Wizards I have met, and _especially_ the ones in the AIA, are first-class douchesnozzles. No offense, Jo, you’re an exception.”

Jo blinks at him.

“But he _is_ good, Dean. And you’d know that if you gave him a chance to prove it to you. Castiel fought in a war in the freakin’ UK when he was only nineteen years old to save Muggles. He still has bad dreams about that from what Hannah told me. He almost got himself killed to save the two of you. And also,” she adds, reaching into her robes and pulling out a copy of _The Seattle Sorcerer_ , “you never read the last article of _National Muggle Awareness Month._ ”

Dean glares at the magazine. “Please. It’s just gonna be full of more of Castiel’s gobbledeegook about rubber ducks and cell phones. And about how Muggles are childlike and funny.”

“Actually,” Sam chimes in, “I really think you should read it too.”

“You’re both bullies,” Dean frowns. He does take the copy from Jo’s hand, though, grabbing his mug of coffee in the process, and locks himself in his room with both.

*  *  *

**Today in our weekly column, which is part of _National Muggle Awareness Month_ , Castiel closes up his series with some truly progressive thinking:**

_Dear Witches and Wizards of Seattle, when I first got this assignment, I was terrified. Terrified of the strange and unknown Muggle world that I have always found so rigid and way too difficult to ever consider wanting to be a part of it. I was proven so wrong. Being a Wizard, having special abilities and being able to solve problems literally by “waving a magic a wand” - this is a great privilege. I was raised in a family where this privilege was treated as something equally as (and sometimes more) important as love, health and safety._

_My parents sent me off to war at 19 years of age without a second thought, because it was my duty as a privileged person to protect “the poor defenceless Muggles,” because according to my father, they truly are helpless and childlike and they need our help. The truth is, they wouldn’t need our help if one of us - Voldemort, hadn’t decided that his privilege of magic was to be used for evil. The truth is, Muggles deserve better than us. And we, the “superior kind” do not deserve_ them _at all. They are strong and beautiful and ingenious and they have devices far more advanced than magic could ever become._

 _These articles were supposed to show all the ways in which Muggles are different from us. Funnily enough, I believe they ended up being a testament to all the ways in which we are the same. We bleed the same, we love the same and we fight the same. And so, dear Wizards and Witches of Seattle, please take all of what you have learnt through my short experience into account the next time you talk to a Muggle. Maybe you’ll learn something new. Not about the Muggle world, but about_ yourself. _Just like I did every single day that I spent with DW and SW in our little Seattle apartment. I did not miss magic when I was with them, but I do miss_ them _, now that I can use magic again. And I think that says it all. Thank you for being a part of this journey and see you in May 2009._

_Castiel Novak_

* 

Crowley is smirking like cat who got the cream today and it takes all of Castiel’s willpower not to jump over his desk and choke him to death with his bare hands. Merlin, he _hates_ this guy.

“Why are you looking so grim, Castiel?”

Castiel scoffs. “That’s none of your business, Crowley. Can we just get back to the questions?”

Hannah, who is sitting next to her boss with an expression of infinite patience, rolls her eyes at both of them, while Crowley puts one of his legs across the other and leans forward in his chair, his smirk widening.

“But of course we can. After all, it’s not every day that I get to be interviewed for a _Wizarding_ magazine. I was just wondering how is it that you aren’t feeling like you’re on top of the world! You got promoted, you have this shiny new office, new intern...” he gestures towards the door at a young dark haired Witch holding a stack of parchments that’s so high it’s almost impossible for her to see where she’s going.

Castiel frowns. He likes Hael, he really does, but every time he sees her he’s hit by the painful memory of Samandriel’s smiling face and he gets so overwhelmed with grief he always ends up sending her away instead of getting to know her better or mentoring her properly. He’s feeling guilty about it, but not as guilty as he’s still feeling about everything that happened in May.

“Thank you, Hael,” he mumbles as she lays the parchments on his desk and disappears as quickly as she came, already accustomed to Castiel’s grumpy nature. 

Crowley groans.

“Oh come on, Castiel, don’t tell me you’re still beating yourself up over that child. It wasn’t your fault that he died. Your crazy Mugglephobic colleague _Urinatiel_ killed him.”

“Crowley, can you _please_ stop tormenting my brother and get back to why we’re actually here?” Hannah finally snaps. 

Castiel is half expecting Crowley to fire her on the spot, but he merely turns to look at her with wide eyes.

“Finally, she gets feisty! It took you over a year! This is such a good day, we might have to go for drinks afterwards to celebrate,” he rubs his hands together in glee. 

Hannah puts her head into her hands, shaking it, while Crowley turns his attention back to Castiel

“Hold up, I _know_ why you look so miserable. You haven’t talked to Dean Winchester for what? Nearly a month?” He whistles under his breath when Castiel avoids his gaze. “No wonder you’re all captain grumpyrobes lately, despite your promotion.”

“I would appreciate if we could talk about something else, Crowley.” Castiel’s fingers brush against his wand. He’s so tempted to hex Crowley, he’s almost at the verge of not really caring that it might cause him his reputation as the advocate for Muggle protection and probably his job, if he turned the deputy mayor of Seattle into a rainworm. 

“I mean, _sure_ , we could talk about something else,” Crowley drawls, “but I thought you’d appreciate it _even more_ if we talked about how I saw Dean Winchester parked in front of the building in that shiny black Impala of his.”

Castiel’s eyes widen.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?” Hannah exclaims, glaring at her boss, while Castiel jumps out of his chair so fast he almost topples it over, parchments flying everywhere.

“When was that?” he demands to know, looking at the old cuckoo clock on the wall of his office. 

Dean is here? At _the_ _Sorcerer_? Maybe even in the building already?! But there is no way for him to get in, unless either someone with a wand or someone with the right combination let him in.

Crowley’s smile has meanwhile grown so big Castiel immediately knows who that someone with the right combination was.

“You let Dean in,” he points at Crowley, his heart pumping in his chest so fast he has to start breathing more heavily to stay conscious. “And you have been waiting this whole time to tell me?”

Crowley giggles. “Yes, I did, when your sister was in the restroom. Clever, eh? Lots of fun as well. Also, do you think I wanted the two of you to steal my thunder? I wanted my interview first!” 

He squints at Castiel. “I wasn’t expecting you to be _such_ a complete downer, though. I have seen funerals more cheerful, honestly...”

“Where _is_ he?” Castiel demands again, half tempted to run out of his office and search the whole building to find Dean even if it should take him days.

Crowley shrugs. “Your charming boss spotted us in the hallway and took him to her office.”

Castiel frowns in confusion. “Who? _Naomi?_ ” What could she possibly want with Dean of all people?”

“Maybe you should go there?” Hannah suggests and Castiel looks at her blankly, his legs refusing to work all of the sudden.

“But what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”

Crowley and Hannah roll their eyes in unison, which might be funny under different circumstances, but right now it just makes Castiel even more irritated.

Crowley smacks his hand on Castiel’s desk. “For the love of all that is holy, Castiel, get your arse up there immediately. I swear both of you are so sickening, I have never seen anything like it before.”

Castiel is starting to get really pissed off at Crowley’s tone.

“You mean because we’re both men?” 

Crowley starts laughing. “As if, you dumbo! You’re both exactly the same, so in love with each other it’s practically turned your brains into mashed potatoes.”

Castiel can feel his face flush. “Dean still loves me?”

This time it’s Hannah who loses her patience. “Castiel, just _go_ already before I kick you all the way up there,” she moans. 

She starts smiling as Castiel finally manages to take the first step and then he starts running, taking two stairs at once. 

He’s just about to be extremely rude and barge into Naomi’s office without even bothering to knock, when the door opens right into his face and suddenly Dean is standing in front of him, his eyes bright, his lips pink and his mouth open in surprise as he takes Castiel in.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel rasps, not really sure what else is there to say. 

“Cas,” Dean smiles as he recovers from the shock. “It’s good to see you.”

Castiel tilts his head to one side. “Is it? Dean... I’m so sorry,” he stresses, taking great care in making sure that Dean finally understands this. “I don’t care how many times I have to tell you how sorry I am. I swear I never thought of you as anything less than the most amazing human being I’ve ever met. And that includes all Wizards as well.”

Dean chuckles. “That’s good to know,” he muses in a shy voice. “I actually came here to tell you that I read your last article and that I’m sorry too, before your boss dragged me here. I hope we can-”

“Yes,” Castiel jumps in. “Whatever it is, yes,” he says and then finally, _finally,_ they’re holding each other, hands buried in each other’s hair, just breathing together and enjoying the closeness.

“Are you sure you’re ok with me being a Muggle?” Dean mumbles into his neck and Castiel lifts his head from Dean’s shoulder to look him in the eye, his lips stretching into a smile.

“As long as you’re fine with me being a man,” he jokes.

Dean laughs again. “I am very much fine with that.” 

And then they’re kissing, or more like drinking each other in, and it’s fucking _perfect_.

Someone clears their throat.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do, but do you really have to do in the doorway of my office?”

They jump apart, both blushing, but Naomi smiles at them from behind Dean’s back.

“I suggest you take this into your own office, Mr Novak,” she says. “Or maybe you could show Mr Winchester the building? He’s going to need to know his way around, after all.” 

Castiel stares at her in confusion while Dean shifts his weight from one foot to another, his hand tightening around Castiel’s waist.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel frowns.

Naomi looks amused. “You know how many Wizards in the city _really_ don’t have _any idea whatsoever_ how most of Muggle machines and devices work, right?” she looks at him pointedly. “Well it was brought to my attention that Mr Winchester here has studied engineering at a university and he’s currently on a lookout for a job. Long story short, you’re looking at our new Muggle reporter.”

Castiel’s eyebrows fly upwards and his heart picks up speed. His head whips around to stare at Dean.

“Is this true?”

And Dean laughs again, nodding. “That’s right, Cas. Now you and all the rest of the Wizarding Seattle can finally fulfil your dreams of finding out how cars _really work_.”

And _really_ , Castiel thinks, as he almost climbs Dean like a tree, while Naomi chuckles behind them, wasn’t it all worth it in the end? 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you have any questions, you can find me at [prideofportree.tumblr.com](http://prideofportree.tumblr.com)


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